


The Definition of Family

by Queen (ramble)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Avengers Family, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Family, Gen, Iron Man 3, Peter Parker-centric, Peter is going to be raised by Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Superfamily (Marvel), slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 139,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramble/pseuds/Queen
Summary: **On Semi-Haitus due to COVID-19 (I work in an essential role and have significantly increased work hours right now to mitigate current issues - I will update as soon as I am able)**Steve Rogers had not expected to survive, let alone be woken up 70 years after his sacrifice. He definitely hadn't expected to find out that he had surviving relatives. He also could never have predicted the freak accident that would leave him as his long lost cousin's only surviving relative.Peter Parker barely had time to process what happened - the accident, the horrific injuries afflicting most of the survivors, and the awful, horrible, unrelenting sounds in the hospital - when he found out that his new guardian was his long lost cousin, Captain America. One favor from Tony Stark later and the two of them have a penthouse on top of the world as they try to learn how this new dynamic is going to work. It doesn't help that the accident at Oscorp wasn't what it seemed to be, or that Peter seems to be developing strange new abilities, but Steve fully intends to do whatever he can for his family. They're all each other has left, after all.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Prologue takes place pre-Avengers.)

2011\. Two thousand eleven. 

Everyone seemed to have an opinion on some movie series about vampires that sparkled, and even stronger opinions on the books they had been created from. Music was loud. Really loud. Though, perhaps, not as loud as a few decades previously. Every place that once held neon lights and billboards now seemed to have giant, color television screens strung up. A lot of people joked about something called the 'meat dress' that had been worn a year earlier by some musician that called herself Lady Gaga. People were also taking pictures of themselves...laying on things. They called it 'planking' and they shared the pictures with the world. They did not need to be famous photographers for the world to have access to these pictures. Things weren't all situated on a scale between confusing and awful, though. Women were able to join all branches of the military now, and there had not been a world war in almost 70 years. There were also dishwashers in most kitchens. Those were great.

Truly, it was as different from 1945 as 1945 was from the year 1700. Or earlier, most likely. Technology had exploded, thanks in no small part to the war. What had once been solutions to problems presented by amoral Nazi-Hydra soldiers had given rise to computers, and internet, and 'smartphones.' 

When Steve Rogers had gone down into the ice in that plane, the last thing he expected was to wake up almost 70 years later. And yet, somehow, things kept surprising him. In his absence, the people he cared about had founded an organization that had sought to uphold everything he'd stood for. Or, well, everything the world had perceived him to stand for. They seemed to be doing alright on that front, but then he also had 70 years of history to catch up with.

His world what still reeling two weeks later. Well, two weeks after he'd woken up. They'd told him he'd been asleep but unfrozen for several days as his body finally had the chance to heal. As opposed to being, well, frozen. They'd had more than a week from the day they found him to the day he woke up, and yet they couldn't actually do enough research to know what year what team won. 

He wasn't mad at them. Now that he was sure this was real – which had been a hard enough pill to swallow – he appreciated that they hadn't just woken him up by waving the latest trending hashtag in his face. Or however that stuff worked. 

This wasn't his New York. But...it also was. His legacy had helped protect the people who would go on to have the kids and grandkids and great-grandkids who would create and do these strange things.

Well, for the most part. There was also the Stark legacy to keep in mind. The news loved Stark's son, and Stark's son loved the attention. 

As yet another segment about the man popped up, Steve turned off the news. No one had announced his return, though he'd been told by one of the agents, Natasha, who had been assigned to assist him that the scene he'd made in Times Square had garnered some attention. People thought there was a new Captain America-and-SHIELD themed show coming to Broadway soon. The agent suspected there probably would be now, even if it didn't make historical sense. People didn't usually care about what made historical sense. They cared about what entertained them.

She'd taught him about the internet, and made it clear that money was no object. If he needed to purchase something, SHIELD was going to foot the bill. It was the least America could do in return for everything he'd sacrificed, or so they said.

He'd started trying to learn about the lives of his surviving friends. That had been heartwarming – so many of them had gone on to have families, and it looked like their lives had been satisfying. Jim Morita's grandson was a high school principal in Queens. Maybe Steve would try to meet him one of these days. Tell him stories, and listen to his stories. 

Eventually, curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd clicked into his own file. He expected the unending praise – that seemed to be the default way of addressing all veterans from the war, regardless of how famous they'd become. He hadn't expected to see a full analysis of his family history. He hadn't expected to have enough family history for them to analyze it. And yet - 

There was his father, and through his father he found out about his aunt. He remembered his father showing him a picture of her, once. It was a different picture than the one they had in her file - the only picture she'd had taken with her family before she'd disappeared. His father had assumed his younger sister had died in a factory accident when she was fourteen. She certainly wouldn't have been the only one. Sometimes, back at the turn of the century, families, especially immigrant families such as hers, were easily separated. They didn't have all this technology to help them connect and find each other again. Yet there she was, with her whole life story. She'd lived to be ninety-eight years old.

She'd also served as a nurse in the war. Since he hadn't spent much time in medical facilities, he was sure he hadn't seen her. But still, there was that slim chance that perhaps, just in passing, he had. 

She'd had a daughter herself, who in turn had had two children. A boy and a girl. Ben and Mary Parker. “I have...family?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Natasha echoed as she put the takeout she'd ordered out on the dinner table. “If you want to meet them, we can reach out.”

“Does SHIELD have information on everyone?”

“No. But most people.”

“One child, Peter. Father, unknown?”

“Yeah, see?" the SHIELD agent replied. "I'm sure we have a file for him somewhere, but we haven't been able to connect the two of them yet.” Steve fell silent again, reading up on his...grand-cousin-niece? And grand nephew, and great grand nephew. Mary had been killed in an accident when he was six, and he'd been living with Ben and Ben's wife, May, ever since. He was ten now. Almost eleven. “So, do you want to meet them?”

“I...don't know.” Truth was, he still felt frozen in time. Even simple decisions felt like they carried a ton of bricks with them. How could he introduce himself to long lost family? 'Hi, my aunt is your ancestor. I'm much older than I look.' He was a face in a history book now. He'd seen the books. He'd seen his 'Wikipedia page.' He was still listed as deceased.

“Ok. You don't have to decide right now. How about dinner? Do you want some dinner?” 'Dinner' smelled worse than army rations. But apparently it was the new popular take-out place in Brooklyn.

2011 was very, very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few chapters written right now, but I'll only be posting about 1 a week so that I can give myself time to keep writing. Tags will also be updated as I go - I've set some base tags now, but in the future tags will only be updated as the chapters I release dictate, to try to minimize spoilers. As for the overall story, I'm using the movies as a baseline but they will certainly be drastically different. And, lastly, if there is a tag that you are aware of that you think I should be using, please let me know. I'm not super familiar with MCU tags and I'm also not super sure what tags to use in general.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date: September 2013

The staff at the hospital was comprised seemingly entirely of people who were kind, and gentle. It seemed that even the most frenzied nurse was able to turn on their sympathetic, gentle tone when they addressed Peter Parker. 'Just a little while longer,' they'd been saying for almost 24 hours.

 

In the middle of the worst lab accident New York had ever seen, and just over a year after the most horrifying thing the world had ever seen, there were people whose bodies would never look the same, and never again be able to do the things that they had once been able to do. The hospital staff was amazing in the face of the horrors they'd seen. But they were certainly grateful that the youngest of all the victims was turning out to be the least of their concerns.

 

Aside from the shock and some non-life-threatening-though-definitely-painful chemical burns and what looked to be a harmless spider-bite, Peter was physically fine, they said.

 

The courts, or CPS, or whoever was in charge of making these decisions had left him at the hospital overnight 'for his safety'...and because some of the other victims were having awful reactions to the chemicals, but of course no one actually told the traumatized thirteen year old that. They'd told him they were having him stay here overnight so they could search for relatives.

 

He told them he didn't have any. They said they had to check anyway, just in case. Sometimes distant relatives could be found.

 

They had to find _someone_.

 

They had pulled him out from under Ben. Ben...hadn't made it. They also said they hadn't found May yet, but her chances were bleak. How could she have made it? Since she was an assistant on this project, she had been in the lab where it happened. And yet, they hadn't found her, or any of the other assistants or scientists who had been there. Everyone who had been pulled out had been from outside the lab.

 

This wasn't like last time. Mom had always been close with her brother, so Ben had been there when the principal had called him from his first grade class. May had been there to hold him close. They'd always been there, through science camps and math camps and the coveted spot at robotics camp and the Stark Expo and the alien invasion last year. Everything good, everything bad, and everything weird. They were there.

 

And they were it. His grandparents were gone. May was an only child. No one knew who his father was.

 

“Peter?” the blonde caseworker who'd been assigned to him said, crouching down at his bedside and letting her hand rest gently over his. “We've found a, uhm, cousin, on your mom's side. His name is Steven Rogers. It's been taking a bit of time to...well, to process this one. This situation is a bit unusual. He's, well, he was missing for a while, but they, uhm, _found_ him two years ago. I assume you and your family weren't contacted sooner because of how much he had to adjust to.”

 

“Is he a criminal?” Peter found himself asking, as he took in her all-too-familiar pencil skirt and sensible shoes and sickly sweet perfume.

 

“No, no, quite the opposite. He's a hero. A war hero, among other things.”

 

“Like Captain America?”

 

She didn't respond right away, taking a moment to rub her lips together, as though that would smooth out the already fading and patchy light pink lipstick. He knew her job wasn't easy, he knew she wasn't well paid. He was grateful for what she was doing for him, really, but she looked so much like a memory he didn't want to recall. “Because he was missing for so long, it was a bit difficult to properly do his background check. And because of recent events, it's been a bit difficult to do the home check since he hasn't been spending much time in one place this last year. But people are moving quickly, he already has secure housing for you, and he's going to be here to pick you up soon. If you get overwhelmed, just let me know.”

 

All Peter could offer her in return was a nod.

 

“Peter, I don't know how things are going to go over the next few months, or even the next few days, but I do know this: he will definitely take care of you.”

 

Ben was supposed to take care of him.

 

No. He wasn't mad at Ben.

 

But he was mad, and that anger was threatening to take over.

 

The sounds and smells and sights were pounding on his senses, pounding on his head. His arms were tingling. His wrist was itching so deeply that it was throbbing. Every whisper, every shoe scuff, ever drip drip of water from the fountain up the hall – it all cut into his head like a knife. His insides felt fuzzy. His hair hurt. Not his scalp, his hair itself. It hurt.

 

And Ben wasn't coming to pick him up. And May wasn't coming to pick him up.

 

Some strange new cousin he'd never heard of was coming to pick him up.

 

It wasn't their fault. None of them did this. None of them wanted this.

 

“I'll let you know when he gets here. He's bringing some clean clothes for you, too.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Remember, we're all here for you.” She squeezed his hand, and then she was gone, leaving him again with just the sounds of the hospital. To the beeps, the squeaks, the stomps, the sobs, the scream of a scared little child. The sound of his own heart beating. The feeling of his skin tingling. The tumbling in his stomach, the pounding in his head. The fire in his veins.

 

But Peter didn't make a single noise.

 

It felt like an eternity before some people returned. “What if he doesn't like me?” Peter heard. The same man chuckled awkwardly a few moments later when the blonde lady failed to reply. Peter couldn't see them, but he knew it was her. He'd heard the heavy clicks of her heels. “We should...we should meet him, shouldn't we?”

 

“Right. He's. He's right in here.” The door opened. There she was, as expected. And there he was. He was tall. And muscular. And blonde. And blue eyed. And kind of familiar. Despite everything pounding on his senses, he was absolutely sure he recognized this guy. “Oh, hey, Peter, you're awake. That's good. That's...Peter, this is your cousin. Captain Steve Rogers.”

 

“Captain?” For the first time since the nurses had forced him to get up and do something that morning, Peter sat up. Captain war hero missing but found last year. Captain blonde hair and blue eyes. Captain Steve Rogers. From the news. From one year anniversary memorial over the summer. From his history book, and - “Like...Captain America?”

 

“Yeah,” the man said, stepping a bit closer. “That's me.”

 

For a moment, Peter wasn't sure he could remember how to breathe. He definitely couldn't remember how to speak. “Peter,” the blonde lady said as gently as anyone ever had. “Meet your cousin, Steve Rogers,” she repeated, to reinforce his less famous name. Cousin Steve Rogers, who also happened to be Captain America.

 

“Yeah, you said - “ he managed to get out. “I just-but you're Captain America.” He could feel a ripple of...awe?, just for a moment, before a twist in his gut ripped it back down. No, that was wrong. The twist in his gut was threatening to toss something up. A physical something, rather than an emotion. His head throbbed as his mind could barely manage to string garbled sounds together. “Uhm...” He needed to reel it in. He needed to hold himself together. Not just because he was worried about what Captain America would think of him, but because he was afraid he'd shatter at any moment. “Thank you,” was the coherent thought that eventually spilled from his mouth.

 

“For what?”

 

“Saving us...last year, you know. The...the aliens.”

 

“I was just doing my duty. Tony was the real hero.”

 

“Right, I...” There were the cracks. A smidgen of excitement and a dash of awe were waging war with rage and anger and deep, _deep_ annoyance. Beep beep tick tick drip drip click click.

 

“Is he ok?” he could barely hear the Captain saying as he struggled to take proper breaths. He nodded in response, but the collision was taking over. If he were a computer, he was sure he'd be blue screening. He couldn't form a solid thought, let alone words. But he had to. He just...had to.

 

“Yes.”

 

That was a good word.

 

“Are you sure?” the blonde haired lady asked, as though she were challenging to do it again. He took a deep breath and -

 

“Yeah.” Ok. That was even better. Two whole words. “It's a lot.” Those were better words. Those words explained. They wanted details, and he'd given them one.

 

“Ok. We're going to go fill out some paperwork, you get some rest. We'll be back soon.” The shoes shuffled and clacked against the floor, Captain America was rather un-gracefully prodded out of the room (though not before he dropped a backpack with an Eagle on it at the foot of Peter's bed) as she tried to explain how he was overwhelmed, how the psychiatrist who'd visited him felt that he was still in a state of emotional shock. How they wanted to get him out of the hospital and somewhere quiet so he could recover in peace. Apparently this was not the first time he'd more or less shut down on them in the last 24 hours. He couldn't remember. It was all a blur.

 

Going somewhere quiet sounded good.

 

“I can do that,” the Captain said. “We already got his bedroom set up.”

 

Captain America was going to take care of him. For now. No. He wasn't going to be mad at the Captain, too. The Captain hadn't done anything wrong. Peter let himself sink back into the hospital bed and he focused his attention just on the steady beeping of the heart monitor in the next room over. He could deal with all the rest later. Right now, he could be ok. Right now, he needed to be ok.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was going back through to make some small adjustments, I realized that I had messed up Peter's age by a year. Since I'm 9 chapters in right now, it was easier to shift Iron Man 3 and beyond to one year later than their official timeframe, so Iron Man 3 is going to be December 2013, instead of December 2012, and just go from there. Avengers still occurs over the summer of 2012 though - just in case anyone was keeping a close eye on the timeline.


	3. Chapter 2

 

They didn't go to the 'Avengers Tower' that the news stations couldn't get enough of in their beloved skyline shots. It was under construction...again. Peter wasn't even sure if it was built for living or if it was just some kind of office and training building. Besides, even if it was some sort of superhero barracks, it probably would never be able to be approved by the courts. Especially if it was the living quarters for the Hulk. Assuming he was still something that existed. He hadn't been seen since that day, and how could the whole world just misplace a giant green super-smasher?

 

Well, there was always the possibility that he was an alien, like Thor, and was currently back on his Hulky homeworld. That was the current favored theory among fans online, but, really, no one was actually sure what Hulk was. There had been whispers and rumors and blurry pictures and shaken-too-much-to-properly-view videos from around the internet about incidents before the aliens where a rampaging green monster tearing up towns and hurting people, and the green guy definitely rampaged. But he'd also saved Iron Man. That wasn't something a monster would do.

 

Instead of potentially getting the chance to meet the big green guy and finally get some answers, though, Peter had found himself in a penthouse on the edge of Brooklyn and Queens. It wasn't as tall as a Manhattan penthouse, but it was still the fanciest place Peter had seen. It was one apartment, but it had two floors and was easily bigger than some houses. Oh, and it had a pool. A little one. But it had a pool. Captain Rogers seemed embarrassed. He said Tony hadn't told him how big it was when he'd given him the keys. And he hadn't double checked before signing.

 

Tony, as in Tony Stark. As in Iron Man.

 

On that first day, none of that had mattered because upstairs there was a quiet bedroom, with blackout curtains that could completely block out the day. There was his own soft, warm bed, and his desk slightly piled with his junk, and all of his Iron Man posters hung up in almost the same arrangement as his room back home. Things were slightly different, of course, since this room was bigger and had bigger windows (plural, instead of just the one), but it was close enough.

 

This wasn't home. But everything had been packed up and brought here and set up to look as much like home as possible. Literally everything. Even his clothes had been hung up in almost the same order.

 

Apparently, when you called in a favor to Tony Stark, he went all out.

 

Peter was definitely grateful, but he wasn't feeling that, or anything else. Which made him feel guilty, like he was insulting the greatest hero ever. Which...he kind of was.

 

He remembered that night at the Stark Expo clearly. He was sure Iron Man wouldn't. Not something so trivial. He'd faced death death (somehow, he hadn't been scared then and he still wasn't scared now) and he'd met his favorite save-the-world sort of superhero. Because, obviously, May and Ben were his 'every day superheroes.' But Tony Stark was a comic book hero come to life. And, for a brief moment, they'd looked at each other.

 

And Peter wanted to be excited. And he wanted to be overwhelmed but in a good way, like any of those movies where kids suddenly stepped into fantastical, over-the-top worlds. Sure, this wasn't Santa's Workshop, but it was the closest real-world equivalent.

 

But everything hurt so badly. Literally physically hurt. He couldn't even be sad when his joints were aching and the world spun every time he tried to get up and his stomach wanted to vomit even though he'd barely eaten so there wasn't exactly anything to expel.

 

And despite it all – the sickness, the pain, the misery, the guilt, and those wonderful blackout curtains – he could still hear the rumbles and feel the vibrations of the people downstairs. Maybe it was just one of those New York things to have walls and floors and ceilings that were thin as paper.

 

“So where is Junior?” Tony asked as he inspected the movers' work. His nose wrinkled up a little at the tiny furniture that was barely taking up any space. There would definitely need to be some adjustments here.

 

“His name is Peter. He's sleeping.”

 

“Hey, hey, I wasn't going to bother him. But everyone wants to meet him.”

 

“...Tony.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Did you tell the whole team about this?”

 

“Of course. Captain America adopts a son? That's the most interesting thing that's happened all year. Everyone wants to see how Captain Dad handles a teenager. Besides, they already knew about it. Who do you think led CPS to you?”

 

After a pause, a glass slammed heavily down on the counter. “SHIELD.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Damn it.”

 

“You can still call CPS and they'll find him a new place. They did not seem excited to be leaving this kid with someone who knows the Hulk, even if you are America's Sweetheart. I'm sure they'd love to take him off your hands.”

 

“No! Tony, he's family. He's my family...I...I haven't had family in...a really long time. If he wants to stay with me, I'm going to take care of him. I'm just not thrilled with SHIELD getting involved. If I was anyone else, they never would have done that. They wouldn't know half as much about him as they do.”

 

“One, yes they would. You really think Fury could function if he didn't have a file on every living person, and most of the dead ones too? Two, you...are you. You saved New York, you saved America...Hell, you saved the world. Twice. And you didn't even do it for the fame. If _anyone_ has actually earned special treatment, its probably you.”

 

Peter tried to pull himself out of bed to get himself some water, but he quickly collapsed on the floor in a heap of sweat and blankets (which kept getting tangled around him, despite all his best, if weak, efforts) instead. His legs were still so weak, his stomach was still bubbling and fluttering, and every inch of his skin felt like it didn't belong on his body.

 

The doctors had said he didn't have the flu – they'd checked three times to be sure - and they didn't find any signs of poisoning or that he'd ingested any strange chemicals. Their current working diagnosis had been shock, anxiety, situational depression, and all those other post-tragedy bad things that could manifest in physical responses, especially when they were all rolled into one and slapped on top of, well, losing your entire family, being almost blown up, finding out you're Captain America's cousin-nephew-thing, and moving into a penthouse that Tony Stark bought literally just for you.

 

His door flew open moments later – he was pretty sure he'd heard two heavy super feet skipping stairs - and suddenly 'Captain Dad' was at his side.

 

It was kind of funny. Captain America, in all of the pictures and videos and on the news, looked the part of a superhero. There never seemed to be a hair out of place, and even the dirt he sometimes had smudged across his face just managed to make him look even more heoric. But here he was, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, with his hair uncombed. And, even in the dark, Peter could see a shadow on his chin where he hadn't shaved in a few days. If Peter didn't know better, he'd almost think this superhero was just as human as everyone else.

 

“Are you ok?” he was asking.

 

“Yeah,” he whispered.

 

“Jesus,” came from the doorway.

 

“Tony, do you mind?” Steve hissed.

 

“Sorry, sorry.” A few more moments passed before Peter heard his feet moving away.

 

“Sorry about that. Tony doesn't really understand the importance of other peoples' privacy.” Peter looked up at the man whose hand was resting on his shoulder. The Captain was eyeing his posters. The man in those posters had just seen him at the most vulnerable he'd ever been...and had probably noticed the posters, too.

 

“It's...it's fine,” he whispered. “I guess...that's the kind of stuff that happens when your new guardian is Captain America.” He made himself smile, just a little.

 

It was kind of cool. Despite all the shock, and everything else. Ben and May had always worked so hard to help him find happiness. They wouldn't be mad if he smiled now. And he was Captain America's long lost nephew. It was fine to smile about that, especially because he really did like it.

 

A hand brushed over his forehead.

 

“You're still really warm. Are you feeling any better today?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you want me to try to find you something to eat? I, uh, don't think Tony stocked the fridge yet, but I'm sure I can order soup or something.”

 

“I...can't promise I'll eat, but I want to try.”

 

“Ok then. I'll see what we can find.”

 

It was effortless for the man to 'help' Peter back into his bed. The Captain didn't mean to just pick the thirteen year old up, but he'd never had to figure out how much of his super-strength was appropriate for assisting a small, sick teenager up off the floor. So he overcompensated.

 

Peter surrendered whatever plan he'd had to leave his room. Everything still ached anyway. The door clicked behind the Captain as he left Peter alone again. “Did you know he went to a Stark Enterprises-sponsored robotics camp?” Tony called out as Steve wandered back downstairs. “He won a scholarship for it. This kid is brilliant!”

 

“Yeah, his file says he's showing prowess in most science subjects. And math. Though apparently he could use some work on his history lessons. How can we get some chicken noodle soup and crackers?”

 

“Already ordered. Though, to keep things quiet for you I'm having them deliver it the old fashioned way. And you might want to meet the delivery driver in the lobby.”

 

“Nothing about take out is old fashioned.”

 

“You sure you're that kid's cousin and not his great grandpa?”

 

“I'm his...second cousin once removed? I'm not sure what the exact relation is. He's my lost aunt's great-grandson, and I've honestly been thinking of him as my nephew because it's easier to make sense of.”

 

“...You just completely missed the joke.”

 

“No, I heard the joke.”

 

The two fell silent for several long minutes. Peter was almost able to fall asleep.

 

“He looked terrible,” Tony said suddenly.

 

“No worse than you do half the time.”

 

“Very funny, Captain Comedian. Seriously though, I wish I could pour the poor kid a drink. And he's gone through this _twice_?”

 

“Tony-“

 

“Not that I can help him. I handled it by drinking. And you'd never let me make an alcoholic of him, would you?”

 

“No.”

 

“I can see he's clearly in good hands.”

 

“Thank you, Tony.”

 

“For what?”

 

“The apartment.”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

“It is a bit much though.”

 

“It was the best I could do on short notice.”

 

“And it just happened to have a pool?”

 

“Yes, it just happened to have a pool. I thought the kid might like it.”

 

“I think it made things worse.”

 

“How can a pool be _worse_?”

 

“Gee, I don't know Tony, it's not like he had a normal life that was turned upside down suddenly in all the worst ways, and now he's suddenly living in the fanciest apartment I've ever seen.”

 

“That's not a good thing?”

 

“Look, I know all of this seems very normal to you, but take it from the guy who got knocked out in the 1940s and woke up to find Times Square lit up 24/7. Literally everything he knew last week has changed. Even if some of those changes are technically good changes, they're still big changes. Especially on top of losing both of his parents...I mean, not his parents, but the people who've been raising him since he was six. It's a bit overboard, Tony.”

 

“Well,” Mr. Stark said after a few moments. “At least he has it for when he does feel better.” The discomfort in the air was almost palpable. Tony took another drink of whatever it was he had. From the hollow thunk the glass made as it hit the counter, it sounded like he was finished. “Food's here.”

 

Peter could hear Tony leave through the balcony door. He could hear the rocket boots, or whatever the proper words were. With that, Tony Stark was gone. After another minute or so, Peter's door swung almost-silently open.

 

“Hey,” Steve said. “The food's here. I'm heading downstairs to pick it up. Are you going to be ok?”

 

“Yeah. Thank you.” Peter managed to hold a thumb up. His arms didn't hurt anymore. Even his spider-bite had stopped itching.

 

“No problem, son."

 


	4. Chapter 3

Tony Stark didn't stay too away for too long. In fact, he'd popped back in that evening to crash in one of the other rooms. Apparently, he had to be up way too early in the morning for some business-y thing or another.

 

Captain Rogers had also called Pepper Potts at some odd hour of the morning – since she was in Europe so he was trying to politely catch her at something that would be a reasonable hour in her time - to update her on Mr. Stark's actions (which was, Peter decided, in and of itself rather odd). But Peter was very sure he shouldn't have been able to be aware of that, no matter how thin these expensive walls were. His first clue was that Mr. Stark somehow didn't hear him making the call, even though their bedrooms were side-by-side. And he knew Mr. Stark was awake because he could hear the man working on something. Which...he was pretty sure he shouldn't have been able to know _that_ either.

 

Peter was also sure he was going to need to invest in earplugs of some sort if he was ever going to get another good night's sleep.

 

Captain America also seemed to be more sensitive when talking about the incident with Mr. Stark. Peter noticed how he wasn't afraid to be direct when it came to arranging May and Ben's funeral, but with Mr. Stark he used gentler words. A few quick Google searches later, and Peter was pretty sure he knew why – Mr. Stark had also lost his entire living family in one night. He'd been a bit older than Peter was now.

 

It was weird that he had something like that in common with the most amazing superhero to ever exist.

 

Mr. Stark started dropping in quite frequently, personally fussing with the wiring in the apartment. Peter also heard a lot of quiet arguing, along with a very proud “FINALLY!” from a few rooms over at one point. He wasn't sure what the 'finally' was, and he also wasn't sure why Mr. Stark was spending so much time here when there had to be more important things to be doing.

 

Peter also overheard Captain Rogers trying to nudge Mr. Stark away from visiting so much, but he was too anxious to tell him that it was fine. And Mr. Stark either wasn't picking up on the hints...or didn't care.

 

Apparently, the rest of the team was busy elsewhere, which left only Captain Rogers to keep Mr. Stark company. Even Bruce – a name they kept repeating, though Peter's best search efforts didn't provide any clarification as to who 'Bruce' was – was, from what Peter could gather from their whispers, deeply busy researching something to do with 'Loki.' Who Peter gathered was the reason for the giant flying Alien snake-y xenomorphs and not just some mythological figure. But he was also literally the mythological figure. And fellow mythological-god-who-was-actually-an-alien-all-along Thor's brother.

 

The news hadn't really explained the details of what had happened – just that aliens had attacked, and a team of 'enhanced humans plus one alien' had stepped up and stopped it. All that the world had to go on beyond that was what the Avengers themselves and varied government officials said during press conferences. And no one really said much, besides discussing how great America was and how amazing the rebuilding was going and how just over a year later they'd really fixed the majority of the damage and people whose homes had been destroyed could move back now. Oh, and that the Avengers were here to protect the world from future alien attacks, so no one had to be that worried.

 

Captain Rogers seemed to hate those promises. He wasn't so sure they would be able to fight future aliens since they almost failed this time, and there could easily be worse things out there. Mr. Stark insisted they would, as long as they fought together. But he didn't sound so sure either.

 

Peter didn't eavesdrop on purpose. He couldn't help it. So he focused on trying to drown it out with video games, of which he suddenly had plenty, though he stuck to a multi-player that let him connect with Ned, who was on a trip to Hawaii because his family was having a big get-together that his parents never missed, even if they lived half a world away now and it was far less reasonable and Ned had to miss the entire fourth week of the school year.

 

Ned was a new kid in school. His mother had to move for her job and his father apparently had no problem working just about anywhere. Peter had met him at a coding camp over the summer, and their friendship had convinced Ned's parents to make sure Ned went to his school since it was always easier to get started in a new city when you already had a friend. And Ned had definitely become the best friend Peter had ever had. They just clicked. On every topic. And, aside from one 'are you ok' (yeah) and 'do you want to talk about it?' (no), Ned had quickly understood that he just wanted to play games at the moment.

 

After the fourth day (and late night) of Mr. Stark's visits, the Captain cut right to the heart of his concerns and asked if he was having trouble sleeping. Mr. Stark said no, but even Peter didn't believe it. The news hadn't exactly been shy talking about how Tony Stark had almost died himself about 20 to 40 minutes (depending on the time of day) from here.

 

That was two more things they had in common.

 

Peter was really just starting to wonder why he wasn't feeling more ripped apart, though. He knew he was upset, but he didn't feel it. Not like last time. He just felt...empty. Well, empty and sick.

 

After five days of living with Captain America in Tony Stark's apartment, Peter was just starting to feel like he was finally on the recovery side of having the flu. It was a marked improvement, but he still felt weak, and wrong. His body was still tingling, his gut felt empty, and he was still walking on eggshells. But he was walking.

 

Which meant he finally got to look at his new apartment. Penthouse, really. That was what it was. It was far from the tallest or fanciest penthouse the city had to offer, but it still had two whole floors and more rooms than they could ever really make proper use of. And it even had its own laundry room. Not just a closet with a stacked washer and dryer, but a whole room dedicated to the laundry needs of this one home.

 

There were five 'official' bedrooms on the second floor, and on the first floor there was a study that could have been a bedroom, and...what he could only describe as a large lab. Whatever the large corner room had been once upon a time, now it housed all manner of polished technical doo-dads. At the center was a table that seemed to have already gotten some heavy use. Which explained the car-shop sort of sounds he'd been hearing over the last two days.

 

“Tony can't stand being too far away from...all of this.”

 

“Is he...is he going to be staying here, too?” Peter asked as he quickly backed out of the room.

 

“Maybe, sometimes. At least until the renovations are complete at the tower. Apparently he's more or less gutted it, aside from the top floor. Which makes sense, I guess. If we're really going to be a team, we're going to need somewhere to meet, and most of the team will need a place to stay when they're in New York, and probably space to practice and do whatever he does in here, and it's going to need to be built to handle...us.”

 

“Are you guys really a superhero team?”

 

“We're just people who have extraordinary capabilities.”

 

“And saved the city from aliens.”

 

“...and saved the city from aliens.”

 

“You're a superhero.”

 

“I'm just a kid from Brooklyn who couldn't sit by and just let bad things happen...Though, we...we do need to talk about that. The aliens, and the 'hero' thing.”

 

“I can't tell anyone I'm related to Captain America. I figured.”

 

“No, actually. If you want to tell people, I don't mind. I...It's good, to have family. Even if we just met. But you should be prepared for what that could mean. Being known as someone who's related to someone famous won't be easy. Everyone will know, I'm sure the news will have a field day. Paparazzi might follow you.”

 

“Does the paparazzi follow you?”

 

“Sometimes. If they realize who I am. I just never do anything that would embarrass myself, so the most scandalous thing they've ever had to say is that I sweat. Apparently that's scandalous.” The captain smiled at Peter's laugh.

 

“Famous people are supposed to look good all the time.”

 

“Oops. Oh well. Just, you know, keep in mind that it's not always all it's cracked up to be. If you want to tell the world, though, just let me know. So we can do it the right way.”

 

“I will.” Peter hadn't even thought about telling people. Or not telling people. He'd just been focused on existing.

 

“Come on. Your doctor will be here soon.”

 

“Wait, the doctor is coming here? I didn't know doctors still made house calls.”

 

“They don't, usually. But SHIELD has taken a special interest in you, because of me, so they're sending one of their trusted doctors. And I actually agree with them on this. You shouldn't have to deal with all of...any of it, right now. You should be the one to decide when you're ready for the world to know about us.” Right. All the doctor's office staff, all the patients, all the people out in public between here and there...Peter wondered if they'd ever be able to just...go get hot dogs, or something, like he and Ben used to do.

 

“I'm ok. I mean, I'm not...but I'm...ok.”

 

Somehow, it wasn't weird - no, it was definitely weird, and he felt like he was an uninvited guest in a way-too-fancy hotel and his roommate was Captain America, who seemed to also feel like he was an uninvited guest even though he'd very clearly been invited. But it also wasn't weird. Who knew Captain America was such a normal guy? He'd seen military men before, when they were home on leave or when they were home for good. They'd always seemed separated from the world. Firm and regimented, never quite at ease. And Captain America had some of that air about him, but...he was also just...so normal.

 

“That's good, but we're still going to take things easy. Yesterday was a lot."

 

The private funeral had been the day before, when Peter was still barely standing. Mr. Stark had provided quiet transportation for him and the Captain - some guy named Happy, who wasn't very Happy, but was really good at keeping things moving. The whole affair had been closed casket. Singular. May had been provided a sort of shrine, but the people who had been working in the lab still hadn't actually been found. There wasn't even a sign that bodies would be found. Though the melting skin was probably a sign of what had really happened. But Peter refused to think about that. He absolutely couldn't consider it, not now. 

 

He'd...well, the funeral itself was such a hard-to-remember blur, but he knew he had been a broken mess. 

 

Thankfully, the most 'public' part about it was Oscorp. They'd sent a couple people to pay their respects and say their PR-approved apologies, though they were having a more public tribute event in a few weeks where the rest of the executives would 'personally' apologize to the survivors.

 

The survivors that could make it to Ben and May's funeral made it, and all the friends and many of their families. People had whispered about how nice this funeral was. Most people weren't even having funerals, just small affairs, so they could try to conserve money. Their lives were so shattered that they couldn't afford anything less. And Oscorp wasn't taking any responsibility. They were blaming it all on employees. Said that there were many who weren't following proper safety procedures, and Oscorp was doing all it could to clean up the dangerous things that had spilled out of their labs.

 

Peter took a deep breath. He didn't want to think about that. He wanted to think about the kind smiles, the gentle hugs and the hands that had patted his. The polite way no one had drawn attention to his guardian...if they'd even realized who he was. Being with people who understood. People who didn't mumble how sad it was or how sorry they were for his loss. People who were mad, like he was. Who loved his aunt and uncle.

 

Today was his required follow-up appointment to check on his burns and to check in with his mental health. He wasn't thrilled about that second part because he still wasn't feeling much of anything. He could have done some screaming and crying yesterday, but he'd buried that deep down. After that, there was nothing. 

 

He didn't want to be angry, not yet. He didn't want everyone to get a bad impression of him, and he didn't want to disrespect Ben and May like that.

 

It was getting harder, though, as he realized that he was seeing, and hearing, and just all around feeling, in a sense, more than ever. Not emotional feeling, but just a sort of intangible not-touching-but-a-sense-of-touching feeling for the world around him. That made him...angry, he supposed. Though that word didn't quite fit, because it wasn't actually anger, but the feeling was close to that. Kind of like being overwhelmed, but dialed up to eleven. It wasn't quite an emotion as much as a state of being. He felt like he might burst.

 

So, emotionally he was feeling almost nothing, physically he was feeling absolutely everything even when it wasn't touching him, and...whatever this third plane of feeling was called was brimming with unpleasant feelings.

 

And the doctor was going to want to hear all about all of it these things he couldn't turn into words. And he didn't want to let Captain America down and make the guy think he wasn't a good guardian. Because he was. He really, really was.

 

He didn't feel like family, but he was trying his hardest to take care of Peter. And Peter did appreciate that. 

 

They'd had a whole hour long conversation about Star Trek and its legacy after the funeral, and how Peter took it for granted but May had told him how scandalous it had been to have such a diverse cast, and how they'd had a white man kiss a black woman. And how what he thought was cheesy even Captain freaking America was awed by.

 

They'd also agreed that the first movies they would watch on the wall-sized TV Mr. Stark had gifted them (because, apparently, even when he was providing the apartment, he still felt the urge to provide a house warming present...well, the captain had mentioned he suspected it was actually from Ms. Potts, just with Mr. Stark's name on it) would be the original Star Wars trilogy. Followed by The Lion King, because the last animated 'movie' Cap had seen had been a pre-movie set of shorts in 1942 and, sure, the classics were impressive for being the originals, but since they had a giant screen, they had to take advantage of it to see the best animated movie ever. And Peter really wanted to see Captain America's face when he saw it.

 

And that was amazing, too. Peter Parker, some random, scrawny kid from Queens, whose family had been, sure, respected within their workplaces but otherwise completely unknown to the world, was the person who was going to get a war hero-turned-worldwide superhero caught up with the modern world. _“Though Tony might give you some competition there,”_ the Captain had told him as they'd joked about it. _“He has a list probably a hundred items deep of things he plans to make me watch so that I can understand more of his references.”_

 

When their doorbell rang, the Captain hurried to answer it. Or buzz the doctor in. Or however this fancy place worked.

 

The soft sounds of the Captain's current favorite record player wafted through the penthouse. Somehow, he'd managed to find a perfectly functioning 1940s record player, and he'd also quickly amassed a not-unimpressive collection of classic records (though most of them were made much more recently, they did at least have a lot of the music he'd grown up with on them).

 

Peter had never really liked really old music, but he appreciated the gentleness of the Captain's selections. The silky way the music flowed was one of the few things that didn't pound on his last nerve.

 

“And has he been feeling better? Is his temperature down?” he could hear the doctor saying at the front door. This place even had a separate, fancy entryway set aside from the rest of the apartment by its own hallway and everything.

 

“His temperature is normal, and he certainly seems to be feeling better. He's definitely been eating like he feels better.” Peter crossed his arms. Then uncrossed them. They were burned, right? So he shouldn't cross them. Even if nothing hurt anymore.

 

“How's he been acting?”

 

“...calm? I think he's still processing everything.”

 

“He has been through a lot. We want to set up weekly therapy sessions for the next few months, so we can catch things as they come up. I'm just here for a basic evaluation though.”

 

“Sure. Yeah. He's right in here.”

 

Peter lifted his hand and waved as they came through the little hallway.

 

“Ah, I take it you're Peter. I'm Dr. Hassan.”

 

“Hey,” Peter replied.

 

The Captain cleared his throat and politely excused himself to his bedroom. Said something about having a lot of reading to catch up on. About seventy years worth or so.

 

“Alright, Peter, let's get a look at your arms. You've been taking your medicine and using the cream as prescribed?”

 

“Yeah. It really helped, too.” He pulled the hoodie he'd been wearing off. The doctor gasped. “What? Is it bad?”

 

“No – no you...Your chart says you had second-degree burns.”

 

“That's what they said.” Without asking, the doctor took his hand and pulled his arm directly under the bright lamp that Peter had helped May pick out for Ben when his eyesight started getting worse. Of course, they'd told him it was for Peter, because he was straining his eyes to do his homework, and he didn't need to add eye problems on top of his asthma, heart palpitations, and genetic predisposition for arthritis.

 

“They...they must have gotten something wrong, because...you're healed, completely. Second-degree burns don't heal this fast.” He was frozen for a moment, trying to assess what might have happened. Behind them, the TV quietly whispered. Peter glanced over the doctor's shoulder, but quickly looked away.

 

The news had already cobbled together a documentary 'special' on some of the survivors of the 'Oscorp incident,' as it was now being called. Peter knew this one was coming. They'd tried to get him involved in it but everyone was thankfully tight-lipped about where he was now. He had accidentally answered his phone, though. Since his number hadn't changed, someone had managed to track it down using the school's directory or something and just called him directly.

 

He told them no.

 

The story was currently discussing the chemicals that the lab had been using. “Maybe they just played it safe, since everyone else was still getting worse after the fact,” the doctor mumbled. Even after the doctors had followed all the procedures for managing chemical burns. That first night, in the hospital, it had looked almost like Peter's arms were going down the same path. But clearly that wasn't the case.

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

“Your arms look great. It's like you were never burned in the first place. What doctor complains about their patient being healthy, huh? I'm glad you're ok.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.” The doctor jotted down the update. “Are we...really going to do the mental health thing?” He shrunk back at the way the doctor looked up at him.

 

“Its a requirement.”

 

“I just...I don't think...there's much to talk about right now.”

 

“Peter, what you went through was extremely traumatic.”

 

“Yeah. I know. I was there.” He paused. The joke came out almost too easily. “Sorry.”

 

“Don't apologize. Just do and say what comes naturally, ok? You don't have to put on a show for me. You don't have to put on a show for Captain Rogers, either, but, truth be told, I'm not sure I could act normal around him either. A war hero and an alien fighter?”

 

“You sounded just fine coming in.”

 

“Oh, you heard all that?”

 

“Yeah. I, uh, these walls are kind of thin."

 

"Ahh. Well, putting on a professional face is easy. Just look at Tony Stark. Until a few years ago, all of his appearances were the perfect business...well, playboy. But it was a perfect facade. No one could have ever guessed there was a hero under there. But he did surprise us all, didn't he?" Peter wanted to disagree, but...well, he hadn't even known Tony Stark's name until the Iron Man thing happened, so he chose to keep his mouth shut. "Now, I know you might not like it, but I think you should see a therapist, at least for the next two or three months, just to be safe. It never hurts to have someone to talk to, even if you don't have much to say."

 

"Yeah, I know...This isn't the first time I've done this. I mean, it's my first lab explosion...hopefully my last. But when my mom died, Ben and May took me to a therapist for a while. Just to be safe."

 

 

"I'm sorry. No child should go through something like this. But, tell me Peter, has this time been different, emotionally?”

 

“When...when I realized my mom was never coming home, I think I cried for three days straight, and I barely slept. Now it's been six days since...since Ben and May were...” He took a breath. Not because he was breaking down but because the word wouldn't come out and he needed to shift gears. “I haven't cried once. And I know, I know. Last time they told me that my emotions might be a mess. That not crying at the funeral was ok, it didn't mean I didn't love her. I know I'm not 'broken' but...I feel like something's wrong with me. I'm not feeling...anything? And that seems really wrong. I know they aren't coming back. But all I want to do is get out there and make them proud." And scream, and yell, and throw things. But that would be disrespectful, so he didn't mention it. "And I feel so wrong for not being upset. I mean, I'm upset, yeah, but...I'm not...upset like I should be?”

 

The doctor nodded gently as he spoke. “I'm sorry you've been put through this. I know just the therapist to get you with. Dr. Keller. She takes things slow, lets you talk about whatever it is you need to talk about. Even if all the two of you do at first is talk about movies and video games. She will work with you as you go through this.”

 

“I like the sound of that - “ His sentence was cut off as the sound of repulsor rockets landing behind him. Well, outside. But his back was to the window. He froze in that instant, unable to say another word. He could hear the unlatching of the metal. Truly it was Mr. Stark's best work yet. Then, in three – two – one steps, and fwiiip went the door. And there he was. Tony Stark was standing behind Peter Parker.

 

“I'm not interrupting, am I?”

 

“We're just finishing up here. Captain Rogers went to his room, if you're here to see him.”

 

“Ah, I...yeah. Yeah, that's why I'm here. Nice to finally meet you, Peter.”

 

And he knew Peter's name.

 

“It's great to see you again,” Peter spilled out like an idiot. He couldn't even bear to look at Tony Stark's face as the billionaire superhero just let himself right on into the apartment...that he actually owned so Peter tried hard not to be too awed by him just showing up. But Tony Stark had given him an apartment. Well, given Captain America an apartment. So Captain America could be cleared to be Peter's guardian.

 

Peter really couldn't get past that. Tony Stark had just bought an apartment like it was nothing, for some kid he didn't know, just because that kid was connected to a buddy of his.

 

“Tony,” Steve's voice carried up the hallway, though the doctor didn't seem to notice. “You know I'm grateful you got us this place, but you can't just pop by unannounced. Especially not now that Peter's feeling better. He needs some sense of privacy.”

 

“How does Friday afternoons sound?” the doctor asked.

 

“Fridays are good,” Peter replied. “For what?”

 

“Therapy.”

 

“OH! Oh, yeah. Uhm...Early, though, like right after school? Just in case...not that I get invited to parties...but if I do, I want to be able to go.”

 

“Absolutely.” The doctor scribbled down his therapy prescription, complete with next Friday's date, the time for his appointment, and the address. “That's not too far from your school, is it?”

 

“Uhmmm - “ Peter quickly checked the address with Google Maps, then shook his head. “That's actually really close to school.”

 

“Great. So, Dr. Keller will see you at 3:30pm next Friday. Now...since you are not yet 18, I do need to review everything with your legal guardian.”

 

“Captain America.”

 

“Captain Rogers.”

 

“Captain Rogers, right, right.”

 

“You might want to talk about that with your therapist, too.”

 

“Yeah, that might – I'm just...I'm going to go...let him know.”

 

“Thank you, young man.”

 

The door was cracked when Peter got there. He could hear the two men arguing quietly. Apparently Iron Man was planning a mission of some kind, and the Captain didn't approve. Peter knocked gently on the doorframe before he heard too much. “Uhm, Mr. Captain America Sir?”

 

“Peter, you can call me Steve.”

 

“Uh, right, Captain Sir. The doctor wants to talk to you so he can go.”

 

“Ok. Tony, I'm serious. Don't do anything impulsive.”

 

“Impulsive?” Tony jabbed back. “Me? Never.”

 

“Always.”

 

Peter pushed himself up against the wall as Captain Steve America passed him by. He wasn't sure what he expected Tony Stark to do, but he wasn't really expecting for him to just...stand there. The two of them stared at each other for a whole minute before Peter found his mouth forcing out a “Hi.”

 

“Hey,” Tony freaking Stark replied.

 

“Hi.”

 

“You said that already.”

 

“Right.”

 

“What did you mean when you said 'nice to see you again'?”

 

“Oh, I just, uhm, a couple years ago. My uncle Ben, he uhm, he got us, well he and May got us...tickets! and he took me to...to the Expo.”

 

“Oh geeze, please tell me you weren't there when Hammer's robots went nuts?”

 

“Uhm. Yeah. I was.” He held his hand up as he had that night, and Mr. Stark's features melted into realization.

 

“Oh! You're the kid with the mask!”

 

“And the gloves. I made the gloves myself.”

 

“Those were really cool gloves.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

"You're a lot taller now."

 

"I'm thirteen now." Another silence. Peter noticed that Mr. Stark was also wearing normal-guy jeans. Well, maybe not super normal, they probably cost a fortune. But he looked like a normal guy, too. Just like Captain America.

 

“How'd you make them?” Mr. Stark motioned to his hands to indicate he meant the gloves.

 

It took a few uhms, but the floodgates opened and Peter outlined every single step of his glove making process, including the trials, the zappy errors, and how he got the parts. Why did he do that? He literally went dumpster diving for some of the pieces. That wasn't the kind of thing you were supposed to admit to a billionaire. Especially not one who was listening so intently.

 

“You're resourceful,” was all he had to say to the, well, resourcefulness. “You would have been, what, eight?”

 

“Nine.”

 

“That's pretty cool for a nine year old. Have you been working on anything since then?”

 

“As much as I can. I got to build a robot at robotics camp last summer.”

 

“Then it's obviously a good thing I had that extra room turned into a lab instead of a gym. I had considered a gym, you know. For Steve. But it would have been really difficult to build a gym that could handle his strength without redoing the walls. And the ceiling. And the floor.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. For...for everything.”

 

And then, Mr. Stark smiled. Just for a moment. And, for more than a few moments, Peter smiled back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Far From Home - if you haven't seen it yet and you like the MCU's take on Spider-man, it's great. I loved it. Tom Holland's jaw was easily the MVP (seriously, his jaw can tell you a lot about Peter's mood and internal dialogue and I just love that he's so spot-on with his expressions), Zendaya was amazing, and I'm both excited and terrified for what's next for Peter. And I really hope we don't have to wait until the next Spider-man movie to get more information. I don't need him to pop up in 80% of the movies, but...I do need to know more. Very soon.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

“Can you, uhm, drop me off - “

 

“A block away?” Happy snapped back. He was still sore about Peter accidentally calling him a driver. But in Peter's defense, he had no idea that Happy was actually technically Tony Stark's personal bodyguard. It was the strangest thing Peter had never thought of. The guy who gave the world Iron Man had a personal bodyguard. Ok, well, really he was the 'Head of Security,' but that apparently translated to keeping a close eye on possible security risks that pertained to Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. And that included Peter Parker. “What, it's not cool to get a ride to school in an Audi? They only like Lamborghinis or something?”

 

“No, no no no, this is really awesome, really cool. I just, everyone's going to be staring at me as it is and I don't want to make it worse, and this is a really _...really_ nice car. _.”_

 

“...Ok.” Happy pulled the fancy car pulled over immediately. “Look, kid, I'm going to try to be patient with you, but you should know I'm not a big fan of kids.”

 

“I'm thirteen.”

 

“Like I said. I'm not a big fan of kids. I'm going to try to be nice, given everything that's happened, but I'm not going to treat you like a porcelain doll, either. There's going to be some rules. One, don't talk too much.”

 

“Ok.”

 

“Two, I am not your personal driver. I'm not your bodyguard either. I'm Tony's asset manager, and right now, you're an asset that is being managed.”

 

“I thought you were the security-”

 

“I'm both. Since Tony formed the Avengers -”

 

“Mr. Stark did that?”

 

Happy raised his voice. “Since Tony formed the Avengers, he's already acquired several assets of importance to the various members. Thor left his belt behind, Bruce...is Bruce, and you are Captain America's kid-”

 

“Cousin.”

 

“Stop interrupting me!”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Steve is your legal guardian, which makes you a possible weak link, and the last thing we want is for the team to need to get together just to rescue one kid. So I am managing you as needed until something better is sorted out. Understood?”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

“Good. Steve said you have a lot of after school activities. Are you doing any of those today?”

 

Peter paused to think about his schedule. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “Uhm, math club meets today, until four.”

 

“Ok. I'll be here to pick you up at four. Don't keep me waiting.”

 

“No Sir.”

 

For a guy Mr. Stark called 'Happy,' he was easily the exact opposite of jolly. Though Peter _was_ learning that Mr. Stark had a sense of humor. It wasn't always funny, but it was definitely very prominent. Peter waved after he got out of the car. Happy didn't wave back.

 

At some point over the week he'd missed of school, all the leaves on the trees had changed color. His bag was heavy with catch-up homework, and he knew the teachers would be eager to reschedule any quizzes...hopefully there hadn't been any tests, since they were only a few weeks into the year. But the history teacher was kind of famous for pulling stuff like that.

 

He'd barely made it to the top of the front steps before the whispers started. Some people had seen him on the news, they said. His aunt and uncle died, they said. Wasn't he living with them because he had no parents? they asked.

 

He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He could hear every word. Everyone's every word. It was like returning to the hospital where absolutely everything was buzzing all the time. He tried to take advantage of the things he'd learned in the penthouse, such as 'don't touch the walls and you won't feel the world buzzing below you.' But those lessons could only go so far.

 

“Peter!” cut through the chatter. He turned to see his best friend unabashedly running to him, not caring that people were staring. Peter found he was actually relieved, since it caused the chatter to die down a bit. Leave it to Ned to not be put off by all the eyes fixated in their direction. It was like they'd known each other their entire lives and the rest of the school were near-strangers, instead of the other way around.“Peter, I'm so sorry I missed the funeral -”

 

“Ned, it's fine, really,” he cut his friend off before that conversation could continue. Ned paused uncomfortably while Peter unloaded his backpack at his locker.

 

“I took notes for you after we got back. I just...I feel so awful that I was in _Hawaii_ while you were going through all this.”

 

“Its fine. I...I'm actually happy that you were with your family. I know you said your grandma smells funny, but...you got to be with her for her birthday, you know?”

 

“Yeah. I'm sorry -”

 

“If you apologize one more time, I'll take Yoda apart.”

 

“Ok! Ok! I'm...not going to apologize again.”

 

“Good. I know you're worried, but I'm...I'm not falling apart. What I really need is to get through today, and get through math club, and...and then I guess I'm watching Star Wars with, uh, with a, uh, long lost cousin I never knew about.”

 

“Was he like, some kind of criminal or something?”

 

“Surprisingly he is literally the exact opposite of that.”

 

“He's a police officer?”

 

“No! Ok, maybe not the literal opposite of a criminal. He's, uh, he's a war hero.” Peter let his locker click shut and the two of them made their way towards their first class. “You know, like how Tony Stark was held hostage for a few months? He was missing for a while, just like that. Only, he's actually a soldier.”

 

“Ohhhhh, I got'cha. That...that sounds rough. Is he really weird?”

 

“Sometimes? He's really trying.”

 

“That's good. Oh, hey, watch out for Ms. Timmons. She's been using what happened as a 'learning experience' to teach a whole segment on safety in science and the biggest and most dangerous mistakes in science history, and...I think she's going to make it weird.”

 

“Noted.”

 

As Ned had warned, Peter's first-period science class was the most uncomfortable thing he'd had to deal with in a long time, and it was certainly the exact opposite of what he needed right now She somehow managed to both avoid him entirely and smother him at the same time. In fact, most of his teachers acted like that. They seemed afraid that he might break if they pushed him too much, but also bound by both their contracts and whatever it was that had driven them to become teachers to, well, keep on teaching. But with Peter and his situation on their minds, and with Peter and the aftermath of his situation sitting in the middle of their classes, every class seemed to be tiptoeing around him. And everyone knew it.

 

Perhaps he was being too sensitive. But the whispers he heard told him otherwise.

 

Peter very quickly started to feel like he was taking care of everyone else as he put on a smile and tried to act like he'd just been gone on an extended vacation just to try to get them to quiet down. By lunch, he was ready to take a nap and not speak to anyone else for at least another week.

 

He almost did just that when the school guidance counselor caught up with him. “If you need help,” the man pressed after an uncomfortable speech about how an unspecified they were praying for him and how the whole school was here to support him and how tragic it all was, “you can always reach out to me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, ok,” he mumbled, feeling himself melt into his shoes.

 

“Do you...want to talk about anything now?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ok, just know I'm here for you, whenever you do want to talk.”

 

“Ok.”

 

“Peter!” the principal called. Great. _Another_ one. At least there was a chance he could get it over with quickly. The principal was not known to be chatty. “I'd like a quick meeting with you as well.”

 

“I-it's lunchtime-” he managed.

 

“It's alright. I'd like to see you in my office.”

 

Who could argue? His lunchbox full of thoughtfully prepared by Captain America food was in his hand, and he wasn't going to get in trouble, and the words sure sounded like a command. So he went, and sat down in the awkward chair that was positioned opposite her desk. He had been in here before a time or two, like in sixth grade when they school had realized just how far ahead of the curve he was in math and science and they'd decided to bump him up to their pre-AP classes. He'd also been sent here by the previous gym teacher, who was no longer with the school district. Partly because of him. But with good reason – the gym teacher was 'not sympathetic to cry baby excuses.' Aka, his asthma. That had been his first and last year with the school. They weren't about to have a newsworthy medical emergency because of some old fashioned jerk that thought an actual breathing condition was just an excuse to be lazy.

 

The principal didn't speak right away. In fact, she shut the door and just allowed the silence to engulf him for a few moments.

 

He noticed that the walls around her office seemed to block out sound better than most of the rest of the school. He also noticed that she had plenty of furniture in the room, and a wall with completely filled bookshelves, and decorations hanging on all the other walls, perhaps to make it even more soundproof, though that seemed a bit of a leap to assume. Still, it was comforting.

 

And also discomforting, in a way. He could still feel the school buzzing. He hadn't felt that way before the incident. At least, he hadn't noticed it before if he did feel it.

 

“You look exhausted,” she said gently. She sat down in the chair next to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “If you find that you're getting overwhelmed, please let me know. I can set up a plan for you. I want you to take this letter home - “ she pulled out a yellow sheet of paper. It seemed every week the school had a different color of printer paper since they always bought whatever was cheapest at the time that they had to order more. “And give this to your new guardian. Steven Rogers?” She glanced down at the paperwork to verify. “Like-”

 

“Like Captain America. Yeah.”

 

“Right...If you need a break, away from everyone, if you need us to add a study hall, or if you need some extended time for your homework, or tests, or anything like that, there's a lot of accommodations we can make to help you through this.”

 

“I...I'd really just like some peace and quiet, for a little while.”

 

“I can do that, too. This is the quietest room in the whole school. I can't let you hang out in here every day, but I just have some quiet paperwork to do right now, so if you'd like to catch up on some work and just enjoy your lunch, I don't mind if you stay in here for the rest of the period. I won't even tell if you want to check Twitter, or whatever it is you kids like these days.”

 

“...That would be great, actually.”

 

“I won't tell you that things are going to get better quickly, because I can't see the future. But I will be here to support you, if you need me. You are not alone here.” He noticed it in her smile. A slight, knowing smile of someone who also needed a break from the noise. She didn't need to berate him with we're sorrys or we're thinking of yous or we're here for yous.

 

For the next thirty minutes, he did just as she recommended – he ate his lunch and worked on his homework. And she filled out some paperwork or other. And though the school buzzed beyond her door, things were quiet in here. He could hear his own thoughts again.

 

It was refreshing. He felt recharged. After that moment of peace, he found himself able to at least ignore the teachers and students as they repeated the same things over and over and over again. A smile, a nod, a thank you for your concern but I'm alright. He even felt ready to take on gym class.

 

“Hey,” Ned greeted him in the locker room. “I didn't see you at lunch?”

 

“Yeah, the principal wanted to have a meeting. Give me some paperwork to take home, you know, typical 'let's make sure we have a plan for you' stuff. I really feel like she actually gets it, though.”

 

“Not like Ms. Timmons.”

 

“Or Mr. Zagorac.”

 

“Oooohhh, yeah. You know, he introduced himself to me on the first day of school. Hi, I see you're new here. Let me know if you need help settling in! He was _so_ cheerful, and he seemed so sad when I told him you were already helping me.”

 

“He tries.” Unfortunately, an overly-zealous guidance counselor was not what Peter needed any more than he'd been what Ned had needed on his first day here.

 

Though Peter would definitely not mind if Mr. Zagorac directed his energies at the other boys in his class. He tried to pretend he didn't notice them, but how could he not? They wouldn't stop staring. They were barely talking to each other. He had to shut himself in a bathroom stall to change for class because it was too awkward.

 

When it came time to divide the class into teams for kickball, the gym teacher used a randomizer on his phone instead of picking captains.

 

No one complained, since it saved everyone the awkwardness of figuring out how to handle Peter's existence. Even his being here was just...wrong.

 

Peter froze in his spot in the outfield as the realization settled into his bones.

 

Being here was wrong.

 

Yeah, he couldn't miss any more days of school. They were patient and lenient, given what happened, but there were state laws that had to be followed. Even if he had a good reason to be absent and even if he could prove that he was still keeping up with all of his lessons, missing too much school was still considered too bad a thing and he'd be held back. And the last thing he wanted was to spend even more time being stared at like a living ghost. The seventh graders knew what happened just as well as his own class. It'd be even worse, really, because they'd know he didn't belong twice over.

 

It wasn't school, though, that really bothered him. It wasn't his classmates, or his teachers, or how no one knew what to say or do or even just how to exist around him.

 

When he went home, there would be no scent of an attempt at a new recipe mingling with the smells of all of their neighbors' dinners. There would be no amazing stories about the ways May hoped what she was working on would improve the world, and no stories about the little kids Ben had visited. He always got to do the kindergarten visits for their precinct, to talk to the kids about stranger danger and looking both ways before crossing the street. This time of year, each school was clamoring to schedule him.

 

Peter wouldn't even have his home to go home too.

 

He'd have a bedroom, yeah. And an amazing, city-saving and world-saving war hero uncle-cousin. And that _was_ nice.

 

But it wasn't home.

 

And he shouldn't be here.

 

And Ben, at least, wouldn't have been _there,_ if not for him.

 

So few people had walked out of that lab without at least some severe scars. Scars that were all over the news, still. And all of his classmates knew it. And all of his classmates saw him, standing here. Being fine. And they didn't know what to do about it. And he didn't know what to do about it.

 

“I was looking at high schools today in study hall, and I really think I want to go to this school called 'Midtown – School of Science and Technology.'” Ned even lifted his hands up dramatically as he spoke the words.

 

Ned wasn't the least bit phased by any of it. He didn't see through Peter. He just saw his friend. “That's a really good school. It's been on my shortlist since I was in fifth grade.” And not _just_ because it was the high school May had gone to. Though now that was a much more important factor.

 

The other team's kicker came up to the plate. Peter could hear him mumbling, somehow. Though mumbling wasn't the completely correct word. But he could hear something. He was also starting to realize that was a very odd thing. Well, really realize. Sure, his attention had been spread thin before, but he'd never been able to hear someone mumbling across the room. Well, it wasn't quite hearing. It was...something, though. He just didn't know what.

 

“Well, that settles that then. We're going to Midtown High.”

 

He did know that he didn't like the look the kicker had. But he was sure it was just his distaste for the most stereotypical bully he'd ever seen on this side of a comic book. He was really just some rich kid who'd hit puberty early and now easily towered over the rest of them, and had the muscles to back it up. And used those muscles to, well, muscle his way through school.

 

“It's not easy to get into.”

 

Most people would have been trying to kick the ball in the direction of the fewest outfielders. Or at least at in the directions of the worst players on the opposing team.

 

Which, on a normal day, would be Peter and Ned, so of course that's what this guy was doing.

 

“So we'll have to work really hard. I know I'm nerd enough to handle it.”

 

Peter barely felt himself moving as the ball came careening straight at Ned's distracted face. In the next moment, it was in his hands.

 

“That's an out!” the coach yelled. The kicker had already been on his way to score a home run. But Peter had caught his ball before it hit the floor. That was an automatic out.

 

Peter had never gotten someone else out before.

 

“WOAH!” Ned cheered. “That was amazing!”

 

“I...yeah...it was.” His body had moved on a reflex. His gut had demanded that Ned not get beamed by a bully's kick today, and he'd just made sure that it didn't.

 

“I had no idea you could move that fast.”

 

“Me either.” When Peter tried to drop the ball, he found that it was stuck to his hands. He tried not to turn green as he thought of what gross thing had been on the other kid's shoe.

 

“Maybe it was that fight or flight thing.”

 

“Yeah, I guess.” Their science teacher had talked about that to fill time on the first day of school. Adrenaline could cause most any human to be super-human, for a time, like when moms could seem as strong as Captain America, just for a moment, when their baby was in danger. But it could also freeze a human, like a deer. Both could be useful in different kinds of circumstances. And he, for a moment, had jumped into 'flight' for Ned, probably because he had felt a sudden urge to protect what little he had left. He definitely had felt protective in that moment. Ned was great, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to get through this year without a friend like Ned. Not that a kickball could take Ned out for a year. But it could break his nose.

 

That made sense. That was logical.

 

But he still couldn't get the ball off of his hands. And the shoe only connected to one part of the ball. And if the ball had been super gross, wouldn't the teacher have noticed and picked a different ball? (Maybe. Maybe not. Peter knew it entirely depended on the teacher's mood.)

 

“Hey, we need the ball over here,” the teacher called out.

  
Peter pulled harder, and harder, but instead of his hands dropping the ball, the ball divided into two pieces, making a loud pop-rip sound is it did so. Half the room jumped in shock. The teacher grabbed the bully boy by his shoulder as he started to comment on it.

 

“Ok, alright, Parker, why don't you sit this round out then?”

 

“I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

 

“I know.”

 

Peter didn't know what to say or how to explain what had happened. He realized the teacher (and his classmates for that matter) were afraid of what had just happened. But he wasn't dangerous. He wasn't even upset. Well, he was sad-upset, but not dangerous-upset.

 

Right?

 

He really wasn't sure he knew how he felt. So maybe they were right to be scared. Maybe he was angry. Maybe what it was wasn't even him but was some side-effect of something from the lab. Maybe something deep within him had popped that ball.

 

It did finally drop, after all. Thankfully. Now that he'd destroyed it.

 

Maybe he was just completely losing his mind.

 

Ned helped him out by picking up the pieces of the ball. It was completely ripped in half. That wasn't a standard pop. But a pop was what made sense. He was surprised he was strong enough to pop a kickball. He definitely wasn't strong enough to rip one like it was a flimsy piece of paper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (So, for the record, I grew up in the countryside where you had one elementary school, middle school, and high school option based on your address, minus the county Catholic School which was open to people across, well, the entire county, and sometimes then some. I thought that cities worked in much the same way - this is where you live, this is your high school option. So the way larger cities do high schools caught me entirely by surprise. I tried researching how it's handled in Queens and Brooklyn specifically, but I'm sure I'm not accurate at all. I did see that its kind of treated somewhat like applying to colleges, where you do have to apply in advance and get accepted, especially for schools that have a specific focus, like Midtown in the MCU has. So...hopefully I'm not too far off base with how I'm handling it. I'm just working with what I know and what the internet can teach me.)


	6. Chapter 5

 

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to -“ Peter stammered when the gym teacher kept him after class. He stopped the teen's panicked stammering by dropping a firm hand on his shoulder.

 

“Are you feeling ok today, Parker?”

 

“...Not really.”

 

The teacher nodded. “Look, I know...I know this can't be easy, so we're going to take things slow, alright? And if anyone says I'm playing favorites tell me, because what you went through is... it's just awful. But if you start feeling angry, please let me know and you can skip a round. Don't be ashamed.”

 

“But, I wasn't angry. It was an accident.”

 

Peter was used to being underestimated, but being over-estimated was an entirely different feeling. “Parker, it's ok. It's ok to be angry. You don't have to apologize for it. We're all here to help you through this – all of your teachers, and Mr. Zagorac. You're a good kid, just let us help you.”

 

“...ok.” What else could he say? He didn't know what happened, and everyone else was super sure they did know what happened, so he couldn't really defend himself when he didn't have an answer to convince them otherwise.

 

When he finally was set free to scurry back to his locker, even the kids who were still lingering were whispering about Peter Parker. There was pity, and there was a lot of fear. Peter might have laughed at the absurdity of it – he was one of the scrawniest kids in his class, he couldn't hurt anyone – but he just wanted to get away before it suffocated him.

 

Peter could almost feel the walls pushing in as the students' voices grew louder in his ears, and as his name seemed to echo from every corner of the building.

 

If Ned was the only person Peter would have had to talk to in Math Club, he might actually have gone. But standing outside the classroom door, hearing people whispering about, well, him, he suddenly found himself completely unable to take another step forward.

 

Peter didn't need a best friend right now. He didn't need a school guidance counselor. He didn't need sympathetic teachers. He didn't even need a principal who somehow just understood that all he needed was some peace and quiet.

 

He needed to be able to go home. Not to a fancy penthouse, but home.

 

And he couldn't do that.

 

And he had to go to school again tomorrow. And the day after. And he had to be ok. But, despite the lack of crying, he knew he wasn't ok.

 

And the world just wouldn't. Stop. Buzzing.

 

He didn't wait for Happy. He got on the subway and followed the familiar stops. At the building, his key still worked. And so did the key to his apartment door. Which, really that just made sense. Rent was paid until the end of the month, so he had a few days left before new people might move in.

 

Inside, though, was empty. Stark's moving crew had gotten everything. He knew that. His couch was failing to take up much space at all in the new living room. Their 32 inch TV had been relocated to the study, with a wall-filling TV situated where it would have been, but it was, at least, also in the penthouse. The dining table was sitting in the kitchen. Not beside it. In it. That was how big the kitchen was. Or maybe, that was just how small the table was. Or both. His bedroom was exactly as it had been here, though the larger size seemed to make the furniture feel unusually small. Aunt May and Uncle Ben's bedroom suite was in a spare room.

  
Even the coat rack that had once hung by this door was now hanging in the penthouse.

 

Peter laid down on the floor, and closed his eyes.

 

He could still smell them there, just faintly. It was enough. For the first time in nearly two weeks, he could feel himself relaxing. The city buzz was still there, but it was a familiar buzz, if a bit stronger. The neighbors up the hall were cooking food from their homeland. He loved it when they shared their recipes with Aunt May, even if she never could fully recreate them. They had, at least, taught them which 'Chinese Restaurants' in the area were the most authentic, and also the most clean.

 

The upstairs neighbor was practicing his trumpet. He'd just started trying to learn over the summer. He'd definitely gotten better at it since then. He wasn't good by any means, but his notes were finally resembling music. He'd found out his dad's uncle's cousin (or something like that) was a semi-famous jazz musician and he was determined to share his family's heritage with the rest of the neighborhood.

 

After some time, a loud bang-putt-bang outside told Peter he'd nodded off, somehow, despite the noise. Or, perhaps, because of it. That specific car always came down the street between 5:30 and 6. Peter jumped to his feet as he remembered he was supposed to meet Happy at 4. He was always going to be late, but he had intended to still be there roughly around the time Happy had told him to show up.

 

“Crap,” he let out. Somehow, even now, he couldn't bring himself to swear in May's kitchen. She'd be mad if she heard him.

 

He pulled his phone out. Forty-eight missed calls accompanied by 15 different voice mails from three different numbers. No texts. Which was probably for the best. His plan had very limited texting.

 

“ _Peter, Happy says you're fifteen minutes late, and not answering his calls,”_   the Captain's voice rang clearly through the first voice mail. _“Please at least let him know why you're late. And...me. Please. What now?”_ The last part was a bit quieter. Mr. Stark was in the background, instructing him. 'Now you can just hang up. He'll get the message.'

 

Happy's voicemails were less friendly. _“I told you not to be late, kid. I'm security, not a chauffeur.”_ And _“The secretary said you weren't at math club. Where are you?”_

 

And then the third number, well, apparently it belonged to Tony Stark himself. _“I'm testing out a long shot to see if I can track you down. You better be kidnapped – no, scratch that, you better be doing some normal, stupid teenage stuff. Like...planking or whatever it is you kids do these days. You're scaring Steve, and he's faced down aliens that wanted to destroy the planet. Not cool.”_

 

After a few minutes of weird, jokey-but-clearly-serious scolding, Mr. Stark huffed audibly into the speaker. _“I'm getting you a new phone after this._ ” Then he hung up. That was the only call from him, but there were several more from Happy and the Captain.

 

Mr. Stark's call had been about forty minutes ago, and no one was here yet, so that probably meant whatever long shot he'd been trying hadn't panned out. Peter's aging-but-still-going-strong Blackberry probably wasn't compatible with whatever technology Mr. Stark had been trying to use.

 

There were follow up calls after that. A promise to get him a smartphone. Courtesy of Tony Stark. Including Tony Stark's tracking program, and several other things he couldn't quite keep up with.

 

His phone rang, or, rather, buzzed. If a phone rang in class, it was taken away for the day, even if it was an accident, so his wasn't set to ring.

 

When he looked, he saw the Captain's number.

 

“...Hi,” he mumbled.

 

“Peter where are you?!” a frantic voice cut through the line.

 

“You got him?” Mr. Stark's voice rang out in the background.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did someone kidnap him?” a female voice echoed.

 

“No, no I'm fine,” Peter said. “I...I just...I needed to...go home.”

 

After a long pause, and some more pressing, the Captain spoke to his companions: “He wasn't kidnapped. He's fine. I know where he is. Tony, is Happy still - “

 

“Happy's downstairs,” Mr. Stark cut him off, “and he's mad.”

 

“Yeah. Hey, Peter, stay put. I'll be over there to pick you up soon.”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said, but he found that he actually didn't really mean it. He wasn't sorry he came here. He was sorry for upsetting at least one Avenger, though. And Happy. He barely knew the guy, but he didn't want to upset him.

 

“It's ok. I'm just glad you're safe. I'll see you soon.”

 

Peter thought about literally staying exactly where he'd laid down in the first place, but his shoulders were getting kind of sore from the hard floor. Plus, their neighbor across the hall had, apparently, heard him.

 

He opened the door quickly as her knocking became more frantic.

 

“Peter!” she gasped. “Oh, Sweetheart, I saw the news, and the movers, they were so quick – how are you, Sweetie?”

 

“I'm...healthy, Ms. Hamada,” he told her. She smiled gently and patted his arm.

 

“Would you like something to eat?”

 

“My uncle-cousin - “ His stomach betrayed him as he spoke. “My, uhm, cousin is on his way.”

 

“Uncle-cousin?”

 

“Yeah. He's my great grandmother's...brother's? Son? I think that technically means he's my cousin, but uncle sounds much more...correct. I don't know, cousin just seems really informal for someone like him. Like Cousin It or something. And I always thought of cousins more as people your own age, you know? But he is...a lot older than me, and really dignified.”

 

“Is he taking good care of you?”

 

“Oh! Yeah, definitely. He has a nice place, and even though he just met me...he really seems to care about me. So you don't have to worry, ok? I'm alright.”

 

“That's good. I'll tell everyone.” Of course she would. She knew all of the goings-on in the building, but not in the usual busybody way. She was just nice and liked to talk to people. And besides, most of the tenants had been living here for decades now. They were practically family. “Let me bring you some food.”

 

“Ok.”

 

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't really tell her no. She'd feed him anyway.

 

She'd babysat him, sometimes, back when he was little and new here. Ever since then, she had kept an eye on him, even though he was definitely old enough to not need a babysitter anymore. It was nice, being cared about.

 

She dragged two chairs into the hallway first. Peter was quick to help her. Then she brought two heavy bowls with rice and chicken and egg and Peter wasn't entirely sure what else. “Should I get a bowl for your cousin?”

 

“Uhm...I don't...know.”

 

“Ah, well, then we'll let it stay warm and if he wants some when he gets here he can have some. How does that sound?”

 

“Thank you, Ms. Hamada.”

 

“Of course, dear.”

 

As they ate, she told him stories. Stories about when she had first moved in here, stories about how Ben and May had helped her move in. What a cute young couple they had been, married for just a few months at the time. How she'd been probably too old to be striking out on her own in the big city for the first time, but she did it anyway because it was what she'd wanted to do. She'd lived in America since she was a little girl, but her family hadn't been interested in living in a big city. Her family had immigrated in the early 1960s from Japan, and both of her parents had grown up with vivid memories of, well. Not so wonderful things.

 

It had made them wary of what the world could do, so big cities were out of the question. She wasn't afraid, though. She had always dreamed of exploring, and moving to America had been the perfect chance to start doing that.

 

Peter knew she was teaching him a lesson in her own way. He tried his best to learn it. “I'm going to miss you,” he blurted, suddenly.

 

“I'm going to miss you, too, Dear,” she replied without missing a beat. “You're a good boy. And you're going to do great things, I can tell. But promise me something.”

 

“What?”

 

“No matter how fancy this cousin of yours is, never forget where you come from. These streets are your blood, no matter how far you roam.” She lifted a bite of chicken and rice to punctuate her point.

 

“Of course, Ms. Hamada! But I don't think you have to worry about my cousin. He grew up in Brooklyn, and not in a gentrified part of it either.”

 

“Mmm. I saw his moving men, though. They were very out of place here. Any Brooklyn boy should know better.”

 

“They were hired by a friend of his. He...he has some really rich friends.”

 

Thankfully, before she could break into a lecture about not trusting rich beneficiaries, he got a call. “Hey, Mr. Rogers – I'm with my neighbor, Ms. Hamada, right now. She wants to know if you would like to join us for dinner?” After a pause, he hopped up and went to the intercom just inside the front door. “If you hit the buzzer for my apartment, I can let you in.” Bzzzzzz – click.

 

“Does Mr. Rogers have a first name?” Ms. Hamada asked.

 

“Yeah,” Peter replied, but for some reason, he struggled to actually say it. Steve. It was a very normal, very reasonable name.

 

But it was still Steve.

 

And Mr. Rogers was actually Captain America. He was more important than a normal name like Steve. Just like Iron Man was too important to be a Tony.

 

Plus...Ms. Hamada's parents had been on the wrong end of the wrong end of the war that had made Captain America famous. Peter wasn't sure how to handle that if it came up.

 

Thankfully, Ms. Hamada didn't press him, instead getting up and putting together another heaping bowl. The elevator dinged as she was up, and Peter stood. He supposed he didn't have to, but it felt right.

 

Captain Rogers stepped out, and even up the hall Peter could see the lines of his face as they melted in relief. The man made quick work of the distance between them, pulling Peter immediately into a hug.

 

“I'm glad you're ok, we were all worried.”

 

“We?”

 

“We – after thirty minutes, Tony called the team. Just in case. If word had gotten out about you, and me, and if people had come for you, well, we wanted to be prepared.” We, the team – Tony Stark had called the Avengers to make sure he was ok. And, according to Captain America, they were worried about him. It was all so surreal.

 

Peter almost fell over when Steve let him go.

 

“Ahh, _that_ Mr. Rogers,” Ms. Hamada crooned as she held the bowl out to him.

 

“I don't want to impose, Ma'am,” he said politely.

 

“Nonsense. You're family.” She smiled a bright smile and winked at Peter. “And I promise not to tell.” Then she went to pack up a to-go meal for the both of them, because Ms. Hamada could not resist feeding people. Steve gratefully ate the food he'd been provided – Peter tried not to notice, but he had heard the gurgling of a man who hadn't eaten recently enough.

 

Apparently, he had some things in common with Captain America, too. 

 

“We should give that to Happy,” Peter whispered. “To apologize, I really am sorry - “

 

“It's ok,” the Captain cut him off. “Trust me, I know how hard it is to leave your home behind. I'm not mad at you, and if anyone else is then they can answer to me. But...we're going to need to set up a system so that this doesn't happen again.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“How do you like the food, Mr. America?” Ms. Hamada said. Peter caught the tease in her tone. Captain Rogers did not.

 

“I – you can call me Steve. It's...it's really good. I've never had anything quite like it.”

 

“Really? That's a shame. Peter, remember to take him to all the best restaurants, will you?”

 

“Definitely,” Peter agreed.

 

“And you better take care of our boy. He's going to be a great scientist one day.”

 

“Maybe."

 

“Don't you maybe me.”

  
“Yes ma'am.”

 

She passed a plastic grocery bag full of leftovers to Peter as she took the empty bowls to clean up. “He's a thinker, not a fighter, think you can handle that, Mr. America?”

 

“I promise to do my best, Ma'am,” Steve replied, helping her move her chairs back into her apartment.

 

“You two – you really are related. You're both such polite boys. Well, Peter, it _is_ late, and I do have things I have yet to do, so I suppose this is goodbye. I'll be sure to keep you up to date on the community events through the Facebook.” She wasn't a hugger, but she did take hold of his hand and give it a firm shake. “Please try to visit now and then.”

 

“I promise, Ms. Hamada,” he said.

 

“And you, Captain, thank you for all you've done, and thank you twice over for taking care of this child.”

 

She was too polite to be too overly-familiar with him, so with a slight bow of her head, she closed her door, and that was that.

 

Peter officially no longer lived here.

 

Sure, technically he still had working keys for the moment, and sure, technically the furniture had been moved weeks ago so there was nothing left, but a person wasn't really and truly moved out of a place like this until their favorite neighbor said goodbye. The two went downstairs quietly. Peter almost didn't get in the car, though, when he saw Happy's definitely-not-happy face. “Uhm, my neighbor packed some food for you,” he offered. Happy's brow scrunched a bit tighter. “I'm sorry for worrying you.”

 

“I wasn't worried,” the man said. “I told you, I'm not a chauffeur. Don't treat me like one.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“And don't scare Tony like that again, either. He has a heart condition.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

Peter glanced at Steve. How could people who barely knew him already be so concerned about his well being?

 

 _Well, they are heroes_ , he answered to his own question. Being a good and caring person was usually a prerequisite for that line of work.

 

“Do...do you want the food?” Peter found himself mumbling.

 

“...Yes.” Happy didn't smile, but Peter did. He was sure Happy didn't hate him. He probably didn't like him that much, but he was sure there wasn't hatred behind his unhappy words. Just a busy and frustrated guy.

 

“Thank you for your help today,” Steve said once Happy pulled up to the side door of their building. Not the front door. That was too obvious.

 

“I'll see you in the morning, kid,” Happy said.

 

“I think...If I can, I don't think I'm ready to be at school,” Peter mumbled.

 

“Then you don't have to,” Steve said. “So I guess that means we'll see you...well, we'll figure it out. Thank you again, Happy.” With a grumble, Iron Man's security guy drove away.

 

“Are you sure I can skip more school?” Peter asked his guardian.

 

“I...don't know, actually. It has been a _long_ time since I was in school. But your principal told me that you were the top student in your grade and that you've never had a problem keeping up, so I'm sure we can work something out. Who's going to tell the Avengers no?” He smiled to clarify that he was joking. Captain America wasn't the type to abuse his power. But he was the type to make sure a kid who was just dragged through the pits of Hell and back got a fair chance to recover.

 

Their elevator dinged at the top floor, letting them off in the hall. There was a new panel affixed to the wall outside their front door. “Welcome home, Sirs,” it greeted.

 

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve said. “Peter, Tony's been, uhm, finishing his upgrades on the apartment today. Jarvis is his computer.”

 

“AI, Sir.”

 

“AI. Jarvis is really something else.”

 

“Thank you, Sir.” The door clicked and swung open without Peter needing to dig out his new key.

 

“Uhm, thanks?” he said. “You're, uhm...not like Smart House, are you?”

 

“Do you mean the movie from 1999?”

 

“Yeah, that one.”

 

“No, Sir. I can assure you that I have no desire to become a mother.”

 

“That's...not the part I was referring to.”

 

“I don't want to seem ungrateful,” he heard Steve, who had gone on ahead while Peter was busy getting to know Jarvis. “But I thought you were going to leave after I went to get him.”

 

“We got distracted,” the female voice from before replied to him.

 

“Hey, uh, Jarvis?” Peter whispered.

 

“Yes, Sir?” the AI replied in not-a-whisper.

 

“Shh!! Who's here?”

 

Apparently, the shh did convince the AI to lower its volume since the reply came through much more quietly. “Mr. Stark is finishing connecting my circuits in the kitchen with Mr. Banner's help, and Ms. Romanov and Mr. Barton were waiting to ensure you arrived home safely. I believe they are all eager to meet you.”

 

Romanov and Barton. As in Natasha Black Widow Romanov and Clint Hawkeye Barton.

 

He wasn't sure who Mr. Banner was, though. But he could hear Steve's hushed arguments with them. “Tony, you've seen his bedroom – you're his biggest hero.”

 

“And for some reason, it's a bad thing for him to hang out with his favorite Avenger?”

 

“No! Not in the long run, but right now, just for the next couple of weeks, for his mental health, I think it would be best if we keep things as calm as possible. And you, and meeting you, its the opposite of that. I think you'll be great for him, in the long run. But right now...he's still in some sort of shock from what happened. I really need you to ask before you just show up, or stay late. So we can make sure he has some sense of normalcy around here.”

 

“He's right,” another male voice added as Peter slowly and carefully made his way towards them. “The best move for Peter's care would be to let him set the pace, rather than thrusting everything on him at once.”

 

“Since when are you a child-rearing expert?” Mr. Stark snapped.

 

“He has more experience with kids than you,” Ms. Romanov defended. “Why does it matter so much to you, anyway? I thought you couldn't stand kids.”

 

“I hate kids. But. Turns out I like helping out my team. It makes me feel good.”

 

“Or does it just distract you from your own problems?” Peter rounded the corner just in time to see Mr. Stark puffing up to fight back, but the air seemed to deflate out of him when he spied Peter.

 

“Welcome home,” was all he had to say before he left again – through the balcony, as per usual at this point. Peter noticed that he was never more than a few feet away from his suit. Before, he thought that was just so Mr. Stark could be ready for a fight, but now, he wasn't so sure.

 

“Peter,” Steve cut through the awkward air, “I'd like you to meet most of the rest of the Avengers. Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, and Bruce Banner. Thor's gone home -"

 

“ _Doctor_ Bruce Banner?” Peter interrupted. If a human could actually have stars in their eyes, Peter's were full of them. He'd come to terms with Hawkeye and Black Widow in the time it took to get to the kitchen, but Bruce freaking Banner was a complete surprise. Well, he probably shouldn't have been that big of a surprise given how Steve and Mr. Stark spoke so much about a 'Bruce,' and if he'd bothered putting that name together with Jarvis's 'Mr. Banner'...but Dr. Banner had been missing for years, and now here he was. In Peter Parker's kitchen. Not missing at all. Which made sense, if he'd actually joined the Avengers. He didn't look strong enough to fight like the others. He must have been helping them on the back end, like some sort of guy in the chair. Of course he was. Mr. Stark was the world's engineering genius, but Doctor Bruce Banner one of the greatest scientists in the world. “I had no idea you were an Avenger! I guess that makes sense, you are the world's best biochemist and nuclear physicist and a team dealing with aliens probably needs to be prepared for stuff like that. May, uhm, my aunt, she read all of your papers. When I got my first chemistry set, she used to say 'study hard and one day you'll be as smart as Bruce Banner!' She really wanted me to go to Culver one day just so she could have the chance to meet you.”

 

“I...I'm honored,” the man replied, a sheepish smile crossing his features. “I don't get to meet a lot of fans. You like chemistry?”

 

“Yeah. I can't wait to actually take classes in high school. They don't really offer chemistry in middle school so May would always find lessons on YouTube and stuff so I could learn.”

 

“Maybe-“ He paused, looking to Steve before continuing. “Maybe, one of these days, we could go over what you already know? Maybe I could teach you something?”

 

“Really?!”

 

“Sure, on a nice calm, relaxing Sunday,” Steve said, emphasizing the words 'calm' and 'relaxing.' Peter's heart clenched a little as he realized that Mr. Stark had stormed off after being told to stay away, and here he was setting up a study date with Bruce Banner. He wouldn't mind studying with Tony Stark, either, but, Mr. Stark had had the misfortune of meeting him while he was still struggling to form proper sentences as the sensations of the world pounded on his head. After school today, nothing in this building came even started to phase him.

 

“And, uhm, maybe, another day, I could...watch Mr. Stark work?” he tried. He did want to, to be entirely honest. But meeting someone May idolized and meeting someone he idolized was different. Steve wasn't wrong. He was terrified of Mr. Stark disliking him. But that fear was a welcome distraction from everything else.

 

“If that's what you want, I can talk to him about it. But, for right now, you need to go do your homework and get ready for bed.”

 

Peter stood, frozen for a moment, looking over the heroes before him, wearing jeans and t-shirts as though this were just a normal group of friends getting together.

 

“It was nice to meet you, Peter,” Mr. Barton said, “but Steve's right. And I need to get home. I'm supposed to have this week off. Please don't scare Steve again, ok?”

 

“Yes Sir.” Still, he stood frozen.

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

“How are you so good at aiming?”

 

The archer laughed as he nudged Dr. Banner towards the door. “You just have to know how you're getting to where you're going.” With a steady hand, he led the scientist out. “Goodnight!”

 

Peter hoped Dr. Banner would eventually get the recognition he deserved. It wasn't fair of the media to shuffle the brains to the background just because they weren't out there fighting with everyone else.

 

“I actually need to go over some information with your...cousin, so I'm going to be staying for a little while longer,” Ms. Romanov told him. Despite her gentleness, her tone was also firmly asking him to vacate.

 

“Right, uhm, goodnight, thank you, and I'm sorry I worried you.” He waved. Because of course he would do the most awkward possible thing. And then he hurried towards the stairs. But he wasn't fast enough to miss overhearing Ms. Romanov mentioning that she had been working with Pepper (Potts, he assumed) to both convince Mr. Stark to find a therapist that would be patient enough to deal with his eccentricities. So far, they hadn't been making much progress, and his PTSD seemed to be getting worse, but this whole Peter thing was distracting him fairly well, for the moment.

 

Peter ran for his room so he didn't overhear more personal information, no matter how badly he wanted to.

 

One of the other bonuses of living in a billionaire's penthouse was that every bedroom had its own bathroom. His wasn't anything fancy, but it was bigger on its own than the bathroom from Ben and May's apartment. He also knew that he had the third biggest bedroom, not counting what had clearly been the master. That was the room Mr. Stark had converted into the lab, which was probably really smart since neither Steve nor Peter would likely ever feel comfortable sleeping in such a large space.

 

“Jarvis?” he asked as he got out of his school clothes.

 

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

 

“You can call me Peter.”

 

“Very well.”

 

“Do you uhm...know everything?”

 

“It is illegal in the state of New York for a landlord to install cameras in their tenants' dwellings without their consent, if that is a concern.”

  
“I actually wasn't concerned about that, but thank you for the information...can you hear everything?”

 

“Under typical circumstances, you can alert me that you require assistance by saying my name. Otherwise, recordings are turned off at all times, unless certain situations as determined by Mr. Rogers with Mr. Stark, should arise.”

 

“What...does that mean?”

 

“In the case that an attack on the Avengers occurs, recording will activate so that we can attempt to ensure that harm does not come here as well."

 

“...Ah. Thank you...What else do you do? I mean, do you adjust lights or - “

 

“That is something I am capable of doing. I ensure the home maintains perfect homeostasis and provide security monitoring. For example, if someone were to attempt to break-in, the Avengers would all immediately be alerted.”

 

“Shouldn't that be the police?”

 

“Usually that would be the best course of action, however, we cannot eliminate the possibility that someone might specifically be attempting to break in to bring harm to Mr. Stark or his companions, and it is likely that they would come prepared. The records of Mr. Stark purchasing this penthouse are not the most well-kept secret, and there have been recordings posted online of his coming and going over the last few weeks. He has told the media that this is where he is staying to monitor renovations on the tower, but that may not stop certain sorts of villains.”

 

“Like the whip guy.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I never thought about it like that.”

 

“Your safety is a top priority. It would not be good if possible enemies discovered -"

 

“Me...Captain America is always going to be at risk because of me.”

 

“My apologies, Mr. Parker. However, that is a concern. Please be assured that your safety is of the utmost importance to everyone, not just because of the potential threat it would pose. Captain Rogers seems to already be quite attached to you, and though Mr. Barton hadn't met you before tonight, he was very concerned with your wellbeing as well.”

 

Peter fell into his desk chair. His heel came into contact with his backpack as he did, and, out of the open top, he could see the paper the principal had given him poking out of his notebook. “Right,” he whispered, pulling it out. He had to give that to his guardian. “Jarvis, can you let me know when Black Widow leaves?”

 

“She has already departed. Captain Rogers is coming to see you now.”

 

On cue, a knock sounded on his door. “Come in,” he said.

 

“We really need to talk about what you did today,” Steve said as he did just that.

 

“I know it was wrong - “

 

“Oh, I know you know that. But I also know that it means you aren't ready to go back to school. You seemed to be alright, but we really should have taken another week. I'm sorry for not realizing that.”

 

“I'm really ok.”

 

“You're not. Peter - “ He knelt down, making sure they could see relatively eye-to-eye. “It's ok to not be ok. Don't push yourself. You're a brilliant kid, I'm not worried about you falling behind in school. If we need to, Tony can get you private teachers. Your health is the most important thing. Even if you feel ok right now, you're still recovering from what happened. You're still processing it. That's something I'm very familiar with.” His hand gestured to the room around them. “Things won't ever be the same, and it's ok to take some time to get used to the changes. And you've had a lot of changes.”

 

“Thank you...I, uh, popped a ball in gym class today. Everyone thought I was mad but I wasn't, it was an accident, I didn't mean to do it. But now everyone is talking about me even more and...I just needed some peace and quiet. Well, I guess not quiet, but not...that."

 

"You needed to feel safe. Trust me, I know. And it really is ok. And I know you aren't going to just disappear without talking to me first in the future, right?"

 

"Right! I promise!"

 

"Ok." As Steve started to get up, Peter grabbed his arm. "Hm?"

 

"I have uhm, this for you -" Peter passed the paper over from his bag. "It's...I don't think I'll need it. It's not like I can take a study hall, I have to make sure I get into a good high school." The captain read over the letter as Peter tried to figure out his next statement. "I don't want Mr. Stark to hate me, either," was what ended up coming out of his mouth. It was true, at least. 

 

The captain let out a chuckle. “He's just mad I set up some boundaries. I get the feeling he's not used to those.”

 

“Because all the change is overwhelming? I'm really ok with it.”

 

"And yet you didn't come here when you needed to get away."

 

"I...ok, yeah, but...I'm ok with Mr. Stark visiting."

 

“I know you are. He's your hero.” Steve's hand waved at the posters on the wall. “But I want to establish...normalcy. As much as I can. This is your home. He shouldn't just show up without letting us know. I know it's a small thing, but it's all I've got.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“That doesn't mean we can't invite him over, or that he can't come over...if he asks. And, actually, he is currently my shortlist for who to call for tomorrow.”

 

“What's tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow I have a meeting with SHIELD. So that we can make sure all the necessary safeguards are in place to make sure no one finds out you're my nephew. At least, not unless you want to tell people.” Peter realized that meant Steve was calling in a babysitter to keep an eye on him. Of course he was. Literally the first day Peter was left to himself he ran off. The teen didn't let himself feel mad at Captain America for doing the responsible thing, but he also felt his nose wrinkling up a little bit in frustration. Thankfully, Steve either didn't notice, or didn't care.

 

“I don't want to be a liability.”

 

“You aren't a liability, we just need to keep you safe. So – our options for tomorrow, right now, are Tony, maybe Pepper though I don't want to bother her on her first day back from Europe, especially not when her flight gets in at 2 in the morning. Or we could let SHIELD send someone.”

 

“...What about Dr. Banner?”

 

“Uhm. He's not an option. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy, but...He, uhm. He – well, he'll tell you, someday, if he wants to. But just trust me for now when I say no.”

 

"So, you want Mr. Stark to babysit me.”

 

“No, not...I don't want you to be alone, just in case. It's not babysitting as much as making sure you have someone you can talk to if you need someone there. But, if it makes you feel better, we can tell Tony that I just want him on hand in case something goes wrong with Jarvis.”

 

“I can assure you that Mr. Stark took full safety precautions when setting up my circuitry,” the AI replied indignantly.

 

“I don't know.” Peter couldn't fully blame Steve for eyeing the panel on the wall skeptically. He was a little uncomfortable with the whole AI thing himself. Most stories ended with the AIs either taking over for some reason, or being taken over and used for a take over. Sure, Jarvis probably wasn't going to go full Pat on them, but he was still recording things. “Plus, he does need to finish with the lab. Whatever he was doing in there, its a mess.”

 

“If Mr. Stark asks-”

 

“You can tell him that a World War II veteran is wary of all the circuits and technology,” Peter finished for him.

 

“Which _is_ true,” Steve chimed in.

 

After a pause, Jarvis let out a “very well. But he can still access my data banks. I will not be held responsible if he chooses to do so.”

 

“Understood,” the two said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this week I'm moving to a new apartment, which means the next chapter miiiight be delayed - but then again, it might be early instead, since I took most of the week off work and there is bound to be some downtime due to the heat. So, if you get an early one yaaay :D but please also don't give up on me if it's late. This is a busy time for me. But then, stuff like this is why I'm trying to stay several chapters ahead writing-wise (that, and its easier to go back and edit when I've felt out the story a bit more). 
> 
> If you've seen the MCU info released at comic con over the weekend - which announced project are you most excited for? If you haven't - seriously, check it out. It's OMG.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew this would be late, but I could never have predicted all the stuff that seemed determined to keep me from posting this chapter. Moving turned out to be more difficult than I anticipated. I'm pretty much just calling last week a miss, and after this week we will get back to our regularly scheduled program.

Despite the promise of no school, Peter still woke up on time. He couldn't help it. He spent the first twenty minutes when he would have been showering debating if he wanted to argue his way back to school. On one hand, missing more school would make people whisper even more. On the other hand, he _really_ didn't want to go to school. In the long run, though, it would probably be worse. But he'd probably be better able to handle it. Maybe. Depending on how bad things got.

 

He flipped open his phone to text Ned. _'My uncle says I can stay home a bit longer, but I don't know if I should...'_

 

The reply came through quickly. _'Are you kidding me? They can't tell you no!'_ After a pause, a _'sorry, I didn't mean it like that'_ came through.

 

_'It's ok.' 'I just can't stand how everyone was looking at me.' 'But I don't want to get held back over something like this.'_

 

_'You're number one in the class.' 'They can't hold you back if you keep up.' 'Can they?'_

 

_'I don't know.' 'Steve thinks everything will be ok.'_

 

_'Is Steve your new cousin?'_

 

_'Yeah.'_

 

_'I think you can take a few more days off and be ok. If anyone has a problem with it, I'll show them that documentary.'_

 

_'The from CNN?'_

 

_'That's the one.'_

 

They'd really thrown it together quickly. Peter would never forget the commercials – a grainy paparazzi-style shot of him could be caught in the corner of one of the photos they used. 'Dozens injured, missing, and dead – Mad science gone wrong. What is Oscorp hiding?' It was horrifying. Thankfully, that had been the last he'd heard of it on the news. After that day, all the morning news had gone back to the standard 'here's the weather, here's the school closings, and oh hey look someone is doing Locks of Love or a puppy is on a skateboard again.'

 

He never wanted to think about Oscorp again. That wouldn't be possible, but if it were, he wouldn't.

 

He could hear Steve downstairs, talking to the school, negotiating for time after school hours or on weekends so he could take his tests, asking to grab Peter's homework on his way home from work (while Captain America's day job technically wasn't anything near the realm of normal, it was still, well, a day job), and to just give Peter a real chance to recover. The call seemed to be going well, and Peter definitely didn't want to go back to school today, no matter how much he tried to argue otherwise with himself. Maybe he could go hang out with Ned after school hours, get some pizza or something. Try being out in public around strangers who wouldn't recognize him...or, at least, wouldn't care if they did recognize him.

 

Since he wasn't going, he decided against changing out of his pjs. Cozy flannel pants and, of course, an Iron Man shirt was going to have to cut it this morning.

 

He really did have a lot of Iron Man merchandise. But then, everyone knew it was a safe, cheap(er than buying him a new phone or laptop or even most video games) birthday present.

 

Downstairs he was met with Captain Steve America Rogers with a tiny flip phone wedged between his shoulder and his cheek as he cooked. Captain America was cooking breakfast. Pancakes, by the smell of things. He was even making the syrup on the stove. Peter's mom had used to do that, but May and Ben never were able to get it right, and while Peter was a decent cook when he paid attention...he wasn't good at paying attention to cooking.

 

He sat down at the breakfast bar. These chairs were new additions and Peter was honestly just grateful that they didn't seem super fancy. Though they did contrast with the shining counter top.

 

“Thank you for your understanding. I'll come in this evening.”

 

“Did you just set up a parent-teacher conference?” Peter asked after the phone was put down.

 

“I think so. They're also sending your lessons to my email...that...Uhm.”

 

“You need some help with?”

 

“Yes. I understand logging in, and how to delete things, the basics, but how am I supposed to know which of them important and which ones will give the computer a computer-flu?”

 

“Who knew Captain America was actually just every other old person?” Steve flashed him a smile. Peter immediately felt himself smiling back – and he wasn't even upset with himself for it. “Luckily, now you have me to help you out.”

 

“You sound like you're feeling better than yesterday.”

 

“Y-yeah. It's...it's quiet here. And...no one stares at me like I'm an alien. And not the cool Thor kind of alien, but a weird, uh...gross alien that no one knows how to react to...We really need to watch more movies so I can actually make references that you'll understand.”

 

“I look forward to it. AH! Ugh.” The superhero tossed four burnt pancakes onto a plate, and, with a sigh, poured some new ones onto the girddle. “At least the syrup seems to be turning out ok.” He lifted a spoonful, and it did look about ready.

 

“Might want to take it off before you over-cook it.”

 

“Good idea.”

 

“I could offer guidance,” Jarvis said, causing both of them to jolt. “My apologies.”

 

“Nope, just, forgot you were there. I'm still figuring out emails and cell phones. A house that talks to me is...a completely different experience. Though it is exactly the sort of thing I'd expect from a Stark.”

 

“We should watch Smart House tonight,” Peter suggested. “It's...kind of...Peak 90s. But also kind of horror light, since...It's scary when it could actually happen.”

 

“I assure you, I have no interest-” Jarvis started.

 

“I know, but what if someone hacked your systems or something?”

 

“That is impossible.”

 

“Nothing is impossible.”

 

“Speaking of Jarvis,” Steve cut them off. “Tony was already planning on coming back to finish hooking everything up...at some point. Well, he wasn't, after last night, but he had been before that. So it wasn't too hard to convince him to come over, but I think Pepper is going to come with him.”

 

“The lady he made his CEO?”

 

“Yes. Also, she's his girlfriend.”

 

“What? Since when! None of the tabloids talked about it.”

 

“Because they've kept it quiet. It hasn't been hard to deflect, all they have to do is not act cute in public. Since she's the CEO now and a longtime friend of his, there's a good reason for her to be spending so much time with him. The paparazzi will probably figure it out eventually, though. Since he hasn't been, er, playing? Around, and he seems to have been more famous for that than his father was. In the meantime...”

 

“Don't talk about it with anyone.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Turns out I'm really good at keeping big secrets.”

 

Peter didn't think much about what he'd said, but his words seemed to upset the Captain. He stacked the not-burnt second batch of pancakes on their two plates, setting the now-finished syrup on a trivet so they could just dip it straight out of the pot.

 

Whatever had upset Steve didn't seem to linger as he filled the breakfast conversation with questions about Peter's lessons, trying to understand what kids these days were learning. Almost nothing was familiar, but most of it was pretty easy to understand. Health class had vastly improved, apparently, which Steve found he agreed with. Several of his classmates could have benefited from a better health education themselves. Then there was history – While he had lived World War II, these kids learned about it in the books like he had learned about the Civil War. Well, they also learned about the Civil War, but those lessons seemed to be done more like how he'd learned about the War of 1812. Something so far in the past that they would never be able to meet someone who had lived through it.

 

At 8am on the dot, Jarvis announced that Mr. Barton had arrived to pick up Mr. Rogers for his first day at the Academy. “I've got the clean up,” Peter offered.

 

“But Tony isn't here yet - “

 

“Are you surprised?” the archer asked as he wandered in. “Morning, Kid.”

 

“Hey,” Peter replied.

 

“I bet he had a lot to say after last night.”

 

“About two hours worth,” Steve replied. “But I think he was just using me to stay awake until the plane landed. As soon as he saw it he hung up.”

 

Peter couldn't shake the feeling that the Avengers were trying to kill two birds with one stone by having Mr. Stark 'babysit' him today. It seemed as though he was also going to be helping Ms. Potts with babysitting Mr. Stark.

 

“We're here!” a lady's voice called through the hall as she hurried in. Pepper Potts certainly never looked so, well, like she'd just fallen out of bed in any of her news appearances. “Hi, you must be Peter. I'm Pepper, nice to meet you.”

 

“Nice to meet you Ms. Potts - “

 

“Pepper.”

 

“Right. Uhm, do you want some pancakes? Or juice? Or coffee? Or anything. We have a lot of options.”

 

“Pancakes sound amazing.”

 

“Aaaaaaaaaand...Tony is tinkering with Jarvis,” Mr. Barton filled them in as to where the other part of 'we' was. “He didn't even make it past the front door. And our ride is here, so we need to get going. This is probably going to be a very long day, and Weaver doesn't appreciate tardiness. She'd probably scold the Queen of England if she dared show up late.”

 

“Right, ok, Peter, please call me if you need me. I will answer.”

 

“Ok,” Peter replied as he doled out breakfast for Ms. Potts. Pepper. Ms. Pepper Potts. “Does, uhm, Mr. Stark want anything to eat?”

 

“He had a cheeseburger a couple hours ago,” she explained. “I'm sorry, please try to ignore him. He's probably just going to be tinkering on anything he can get his hands on all day. That's what he does when he starts getting ideas. At least right now he's working on something other than another new suit.”

 

“A-another?”

 

“Mmhm. Most of them probably won't ever get any use, but he's been testing out all kinds of different designs. Eventually he'll settle on something, until he has another big idea. Don't pay him any mind.” She stifled a yawn as she sipped at the juice. “These pancakes are good. Who cooked?”

 

“Captain Steve. I mean America I mean...Steve.”

 

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.”

 

“Uhm, just so you know, we have plenty of spare bedrooms, and there's a new couch that's really comfy, and if you need any blankets or anything at all, I can get them for you.”

 

“Thank you. This definitely beats a hotel room, or Tony's old New York bachelor pad. He actually expected me to sleep there, even though it hasn't been cleaned since probably the last time he used it.” She shook her head, but there was a gentle smile gracing her features all the same.

 

“Can you believe Steve thought you'd be starstruck by me?” Mr. Stark's voice carried up the hall as he finally joined them. “Finished hooking up the panel in the hallway. Now I just need to reroute some things in the lab. Want to help?”

 

“...me?” Peter managed to get out.

 

He didn't mind Mr. Stark. He didn't. And yet that one word was almost impossible to speak. His throat froze on him and his mind seemed to turn to mush. Iron Man was here, casually hanging out in his home, casually making modifications to his home, giving him a Smart House (that didn't kill).

 

And he wanted to be cool. But his brain was not about to let him be cool.

 

“Yeah. Aren't you interested in building things?”

 

“Y-yeah!”

 

“Oh, and I've got something for you.” From his pocket appeared a small but clearly smart phone. “Just in case anything happens, any aliens attack New York – that phone will help us make sure you're safe, so Cap can do his job without worrying about you.”

 

“It's...Thank...thank you.” It was weird for an Avenger to have handed him a non-strop tracker, but he found that he couldn't actually bring himself to complain. It seemed so ungrateful to question the most sophisticated technology he'd ever held in his hand, and it would be rude to be ungrateful when the greatest superhero in the world handed you a gift. Even if the actual cost of the gift was basically toilet paper to a man like Mr. Stark.

 

“Do...you need help with it?” Peter tore his eyes up from the screen.

 

“No! No. I've just, I mean, I never, it's – it's great. I can figure it out.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Remember he won first place at your robotics camp,” Ms. Potts chided the genius as he was about to explain anyway. “But that's your first smartphone, isn't it kid?”

 

“Yeah. But I really can figure it out.”

 

“I know you can. Thank you for breakfast. I think I'm going to take you up on that guest bedroom offer.”

 

“Oh! Yeah, it's right this way.”

 

He didn't notice how Mr. Stark paid attention to his movements, or his speech, or his shirt. How Mr. Stark noticed that he didn't stutter when speaking to Pepper, or how he didn't shy away from showing her around. He was still cautious and polite, but he was at least sure of himself.

 

Tony really didn't want to admit it, but he was beginning to see that good ol' Captain America was probably right about the kid needing some space. Or a drink. But he was too young for that option.

 

The rest of the day seemed determined to hammer that point in. “Jarvis, please tell me we've fixed every -”

 

“Yes, sir,” the AI cut him off. “Every room is now connected, and I am able to regulate the temperature, the lights, the entertainment system, and the cooking range.”

 

“What about security?”

 

“Shall we test the alarms?”

 

“No! No.”

 

“Perhaps we should, Sir. Mr. Parker has expressed distrust.”

 

“What? What kind of distrust?”

 

“He has made seven references to the 1999 Disney Channel movie, Smart House since arriving home last night. It seems he may be concerned that I might become a bit overzealous in my house maintenance and become a danger -”

 

“I don't!” Peter interrupted the device as he rushed into the lab. “It's a joke -” As soon as his eyes turned from the panel to Mr. Stark, the stuttering started up again. “I-it-it's just a joke. Because it was...a house. That, uhm, had a sort of Jarvis.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Stark replied. “Kid, come here.” He waited a moment, watching Peter just stand in place. “I don't bite.”

 

“S-sorry.” The kid crouched down beside him. There was one advantage to the kid's extra-polite demeanor: His eyes stayed far away from the glow peeking through Tony's shirt. It was rude to stare at something that probably qualified as some kind of disability, considering he was always one power outage away from death. That had never stopped star-struck fans (or excitable one night stands, for that matter) from fixating on it immediately.

 

“Jarvis, show me your codes.” The panel filled with line after jumbled mess of line. Since Tony was the only person who ever needed to look at the codes, he didn't bother to even try to add notes. That combined with his eccentric way of doing just about everything all but ensured even of the smartest minds in the world would probably need decades to even come close to having a guess at how to re-create something like Jarvis. He tried not to let his ego get too inflated as the 8th grader's eyes glazed over at the sight. “Here, look, see this part here? This whole section is key to his personality. I tried to program him to be as much like an old friend of mine as I could. That old friend was the greatest teddy bear of a man I've ever known. And, hey, if it makes you feel _any_ better, I have Jarvis hooked up in all my homes, and all my suits. He goes everywhere I go. I wouldn't trust anyone else.”

 

“I – I promise, I was just joking.”

 

“I know. But I also know you've never had a 'Smart House' yourself before. Here, see this right here? Why don't you add a little bit of code, see what happens?”

 

“I'll break it!”

 

“Nah. Worst that happens is you'll blow something up.” Again, Peter was frozen. “I'm kidding! Geeze. Lighten up.”

 

Peter hesitated, taking in the giant blocks of code as Mr. Stark scrolled through them. There were a few things he could pick out. Some clearly English words, a few symbol patterns that he was pretty sure he knew what they meant. Assuming Mr. Stark hadn't written his entire own programming language that was purposefully inconsistent with everything else that already existed...which it probably was. This was Mr. Iron Man Stark after all. Besides, how else did he keep hackers out of his suits?

 

The more he stared at it, the more he thought he could at least follow the patterns, even if he didn't know what they did.

 

So he reached up and tried to replicate the pattern.

 

“Sirs, do not see? Forests can be destroyed,” Jarvis's voice came out. “At the same time take care of the keys!”

 

“I broke him,” Peter mumbled.

 

“I can hear that.” An honest laugh bubbled within the man as he reached over and undid the damage, just as he'd promised. “Better, Jarvis?”

 

“Sirs, I do not believe this is – Yes. Yes, Sir.”

 

“See? No harm done. If anything ever _does_ go wrong, I can fix it.”

 

“I really was just joking,” Peter insisted again. This time, without a single stutter.

 

“I know.”

 

The two didn't notice – and Jarvis chose not to announce – Pepper watching them from the doorway. _This was a good idea_ she texted to the Captain. On the surface, she was surprised, but deep down the sight of Tony relaxed and working on something other than another suit was alone the most heartwarming thing she'd seen in months. That he was like this while helping a kid who needed someone who understood him was just icing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too much time trying to figure out 1930s and/or 1940s slang before opting to just have Steve awkwardly try to politely explain himself using the plainest language he could think of. But slang is something that can seep its way into the very pores of languages, so 'plain English' to a man who was frozen in the 1940s might not be so plain to modern people. He's trying though.


	8. Chapter 7

 

Peter and Ned were able to get that pizza. They had to stay relatively close to home, but other than that Steve had mostly only agreed because now the kid had a tracker on him. It was for his safety, Peter knew that, but the high surveillance felt more than a little stifling.

 

Thankfully, Peter had other things on his mind. Like how the loud city didn't really bother him the way the hospital or school had. But also how the city was so much louder than it had been a few weeks ago.

 

“It's like it's buzzing,” he told his therapist that Friday. She turned out to be a really gentle person. Stout, with rosy cheeks and a mom-like demeanor. “Like a beehive. It's so hard to concentrate on anything. Ned had to keep repeating himself even though we were the only people there.” He wanted answers. He wanted to not feel like he was losing his mind. That was Dr. Keller's job. So he decided to trust her with at least some of the crazy stuff that was happening to him.

 

“You have been fairly separated from the world since the explosion. It'll be two weeks tomorrow, won't it? A lot changed very quickly for you. And while I do agree that taking things more slowly is a good idea right now, I also think that going out with your friend was a great way to work your way back into the world. And how is life with Captain America going?”

 

“He's really just a guy. Like, he uses weird old words sometimes, and he has a lot to learn about technology, but he's working hard to catch up. He's already better than Uncle Ben was, and Ben lived through all this stuff first hand. He's just...just like any other person. It's kind of weird. All the Avengers are just...people.”

 

“You've met all the Avengers?”

 

“No, I haven't. No one's seen the Hulk since the alien attack, and the other guys don't talk about him, and Thor, well he's not on Earth...since he's an alien. Can you believe that? Thor. The actual literal Norse god. Is actually an alien, and he's out there in space somewhere right now doing...Thor things, I guess. And he's friends with my cousin.” He found himself returning the therapist's gentle smile.

 

“How have things been going with them?”

 

“Uhm, well, I've only met Black Widow once, but she was really nice. And Hawkeye is really cool. He's really been helping Steve adapt to family life.”

 

“He has a family?”

 

“...I don't think so? He really seems like the dad type though.”

 

“And what about Tony Stark?” she prompted when he fell silent.

 

“He's so cool!” Peter burst out in response. “I think he annoys Steve though. He comes over whenever he wants to. Since, well, he owns the place. We just live there rent-free. Steve doesn't like it that much. He wants to set up boundaries and normalcy, he says.”

 

“Normalcy is important, especially right now. Setting some normal boundaries are healthy, even if your landlord is both very wealthy and a good friend. Landlords are legally required to give reasonable notice before showing up after all.”

 

“...I guess...that's all true.” That was an aspect Peter hadn't thought about.

 

“Though your excitement is also encouraging. Once you've had time to adjust, it might not be a bad idea to spend more time with them, as their jobs allow. Hanging out with your heroes could help you grow past this.”

 

“...Yeah. Uhm...about...'growing past' what happened...”

 

“You don't have to talk about things if you aren't ready to.”

 

“That's not it. I...talking about it isn't the hard part, but...I haven't been upset? And I should be upset. I love them. I love them so much. But I'm not upset. I should be. Is something wrong with me?”

 

“Well, what happened was very traumatizing, and unprecedented in the United States. You seem to be just about the only person that was actually on the lab's floor to come out completely unscathed. What you're going through is uncharted territory. At best, we can use the knowledge we've gained helping the victims of catastrophes like 9/11 or Chernobyl. But each of these incidents have been different, each person is different, and the aftermath is always different. Certainly, there was no one in either of those events to be taken in by world-saving superheroes. What I'm trying to say is – you're not broken, Peter. And I'm going to be here to help you through this.”

 

She let her words sink in before continuing. “I'm glad you trust me with what's going on. Do you trust me to help you?”

 

“I...I hope you can help me.”

 

“So then, let's start with something a bit simpler than the why's or the how's. Let's start with what's: What _are_ you feeling? And, keep in mind, nothing is also an answer.”

 

“I...Uhm.”

 

“Take your time. It's ok. We still have twenty minutes. I want you to really think about the answer.”

 

“I guess...I'm...Not thinking about it. I mean, I've been thinking about how other people might be thinking about it, and me, but I'm not thinking about... _it._ Because it just...I get so angry when I think about it. I don't want to be angry. I want to be sad, I want to be missing them, I want to be crying. I don't want to be mad!”

 

“What's wrong with being mad?”

 

“It's not what they would have wanted. It feels like I'm betraying them. They wanted me to be a good person. And being angry-”

 

“Doesn't make you bad, Peter. Sometimes, there's good reasons to be angry. And! Anger is a completely natural part of grieving. What do you do, when you feel angry?”

 

“Anything else.”

 

Dr. Keller nodded at his words. “I think we've found where we need to start.”

 

The last fifteen minutes of their session went drastically differently than the first 40 had. They'd started out just catching up on what had happened and shifted to, well, fixing Peter. Which he'd wanted, when he brought it up. But now that they were actually talking about it he really wasn't so sure. He didn't like feeling _this_ angry. It was an awful feeling. He wanted to do awful things, like kick and punch the people who caused this. It made him want to throw up. But the doctor said he needed to let himself work through those feelings. That the anger was his way of being upset, and that it was ok, even if it didn't feel ok.

 

He'd thought he'd feel better after therapy, but as he walked out of the office, all he wanted to do was get a cheeseburger and go to sleep. He didn't even care if he made it home, he just wanted to lay down and sleep.

 

“Peter Parker?” he heard call to him. He didn't recognize the person who looked to be probably seventeen or so and who clearly readily recognized him. “You're May's nephew. My dad worked with her. I'm Melissa.”

 

“Oh, hi. Y-you're here for therapy, too?”

 

“Yeah. Oscorp's healthcare network is...not particularly impressive. I picked the therapist on the farthest side of Queens to try to make sure I wouldn't run into anyone I knew.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Don't be sorry. Technically, we don't know each other, so you aren't one of the people I'm hiding from. And I'm actually really glad I did run into you because...Peter...I...My dad and I are talking to lawyers. About bringing a lawsuit against Oscorp, for all kinds of things, but mostly negligence and defamation. You and I both know that none of the scientists in that lab would have cut any safety corners. They knew what they were working with.” When Peter didn't speak, she continued. “I just wanted to let you know. I know you're a kid, but...if you know anything, or see anything, or find anything, the can you let us know?” She picked up her school bag, ripping a piece of her homework off so she could scribble down her phone number. “Oscorp is trying to destroy our families' good names so that they don't have a huge scandal on their hands. Its not right. And how they're using their excuse to not help the families!”

 

“They paid for the funerals -”

 

“Ohh yeah, gee thanks. Funerals, _some_ medical bills. They certainly aren't paying for my therapy. And my mom's income is far from enough to support us. Dad's life insurance was only two years of his salary. We can make that stretch four or five years, especially if I get a fulltime job to help out instead of going to college, but does that really seem fair to you?”

 

“...No.”

 

“Oscorp screwed us over. All of us.” Peter felt himself shrinking as tears streamed down her face. “They need to pay.”

 

“I, uhm. I'll...I'll tell my uncle about this. He's a really good guy, I know he'll want to help if he has any information.”

 

“Thank you.” She gave his arm a pat. “You can text me, too, and not just if you hear something but if you just want someone to talk to. And I can add you to the Facebook group.”

 

“Facebook group?”

 

“Survivors and their families. We just help each other out, mostly. Swap doctor information so we can keep tabs on what doctors are helpful and what doctors are useless. We try not to talk about this sort of stuff there just in case Zuckerberg is buddies with Norman or something. I know, that sounds like a conspiracy but...I don't know who to trust anymore.”

 

Peter could only nod. Her name was called, and she said goodbye with a firm smile. His phone buzzed in his pocket. “Yeah, Happy, I'm coming,” he whispered as he hurried out of the office. “I just...Ran into someone. Sorry.”

 

True to his word, he passed Melissa's message on, and he looked her up on Facebook to find the group. Since Steve didn't have an account, Peter would have to keep an eye on things there. But a quick glance told him he really didn't want to. He actually did take a break to throw up after looking at the things they discussed. Melissa's mom updated the group that he had joined them about as soon as Melissa's therapy appointment was over. There were a lot of messages from people just saying they were glad he was ok, which was appreciated, though it made him feel even more like he didn't belong there. 

 

The injuries the others had suffered were absolutely horrific. His arms had healed without even a scar, but they would truly never be the same.

 

That night, he woke up with a violent start.

 

And, he realized as the visions of May and Ben and even Captain America melting into human puddles faded from his vision, he was also no longer in his bed. But he also wasn't on the floor.

 

“Mr. Parker?” Jarvis asked. “Are you alright?”

 

“Uhm, yeah. I...It was...I mean, I just...woah.” He was upside down, pressed up against the wall. He knew he was on the wall because he was staring at one of his posters instead of his ceiling. He knew he was upside down because he was staring at Iron Man's feet. These were the things his eyes were seeing, but they didn't make sense.

 

And yet, here he was.

 

“Should I wake Mr. Rogers?”

 

“N-no! No, please do not wake him. I'm fine!”

 

His hands stuck to the wall, just like they'd stuck to the ball on Monday, and, now that he actually thought about it, a few odd papers here and there, or his sheets when he was sick the week before. But this was a wall. He was upside down...on the wall.

 

He remembered the way the ball had stuck to his hands for several minutes, and didn't fall even after he ripped it in two. It had only dropped off when he'd stopped focusing on it and calmed down a bit.

 

“Jarvis, I would like a favor, though.”

 

“Yes sir?”

 

“Could you play, uhm...just some funny comedian recordings, or just...happy things?” A hidden projector created a screen on his wall, and classic Mickey Mouse shorts started playing. “Oh! I didn't know you could do that.”

 

“Would you like to review my functions at this time?”

 

“Uh, no. Maybe later.” He took a deep breath and focused on the cartoon and nothing but the cartoon as the bumblebee terrorized Mickey's orchestra. This had been one of his mom's favorites.

 

By the end of the short, his heart rate had calmed enough for him to slide right down off the wall. Though he had the sense to tuck his chin down, his back still hit the headboard, sending him tumbling away from the bed and to the floor. His leg clipped his lamp in the process, sending it clattering off of his nightstand.

 

Jarvis didn't need to wake Steve after that. The veteran was up in an instant, hurrying to his room.

 

“Peter?” the man called as he cracked open the door. Peter was going to have to worry about the wall-sticking problem later. “Peter, are you ok?”

 

“Yeah! Yes. I just...I, uhm...had a nightmare. And...fell out of bed.” The door swung wide open, letting the hallway light pour in. Steve's eyes lingered on the next short, and Peter thought he saw a small ghost of a smile at the black and white cartoon that had replaced the bumblebee one.

 

“Do, uh, do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Not really, no. It was...I'd rather forget it.” Steve nodded in understanding.

 

“How about a movie then? That War of the Stars thing sounds exciting.”

 

“War of the - Star Wars?... You know what it's called. You're messing with me.”

 

“Guilty.”

 

While Peter debated which order was the best order for Captain America to watch the movies in, Steve mixed them up some good ol' Kraft mac. “It's not as good as my mom's recipe,” he apologized, “but I hear it's pretty popular with kids these days.”

 

“Nothing is ever as good as a mom's cooking,” Peter concurred. He decided they would watch the original trilogy, then maybe watch the prequels someday in the future.

 

Not that it mattered. He was asleep again before the thirty minute mark of A New Hope.

 

 _Clint, can I get some advice tomorrow? About kid nightmares._ Steve's texting was slow, but at least Tony had made sure he had a keyboard. He'd seen that most basic phones used something called 'T9' and he didn't even want to try to figure that process out, not on top of everything else (especially since it looked like that type of texting was going to be completely out of style soon enough). At least a keyboard, however tiny, was straightforward.

 

_You can get some advice right now. Mine just had a big one. Just got him back to bed._

 

_How do you handle it?_

 

 _Chocolate milk and a story. Or a movie. Depends on the nightmare._ While Steve was starting his reply, another message came through. _How are you handling it?_

 

_Macaroni and cheese and Star Wars._

 

_That makes sense, he is a teenager. Sounds like you've got it under control._

 

_I don't feel like it._

 

_No parent feels like it. But is he ok right now?  
_

_Yes._

 

_Then you're doing fine. You're going to be ok._

 

_Thanks._

 


	9. Chapter 8

It was surprisingly easy to escape his uncle the next day. Sure, they went and got breakfast together at some establishment that had been around since 1909 (though Steve was disappointed that the food was nowhere near as good as it had been when he was a kid), and he'd had to do some catch up tests and quizzes at school, but after that the captain had no problem letting Peter 'go meet his friends.' Without Happy. Which Happy had been quite happy about.

 

Of course, by 'go meet his friends' Peter had actually meant 'find a private place somewhere without a Jarvis (other than the bathroom) to test out the sticking issue.' He had texted Ned and asked for a cover, though. _I just need some quiet time alone._

 

Lying - to both Captain freaking America and his best friend - felt gross, but he didn't want people to panic and put him back in the hospital. He could _not_ go back to the hospital. It was torture.

 

So he'd told a little fib here and a little fib there. It wasn't like this wasn't important. The chemicals from that lab were making everyone else's skin basically melt off their bodies, but his arms had healed just fine. And, on top of that, he suddenly stuck to things. He would've thought that was an after-effect of the chemicals, except, his legs had stuck to the wall, too. His legs hadn't been touched by chemicals.

 

Which meant something else had happened to him. And who could possibly know the whats, the whys, and the hows?

 

Google didn't. He hadn't expected to find much, but he'd hoped to find something. Apparently, there weren't even any weird science experiments trying to attach people to walls...at least, not without the help of external clothing items, like velcro. Besides the velcro stuff, Google had mostly turned up a lot of articles about frogs and snails and spiders, and Peter was none of those things.

 

So he'd grabbed an empty spiral notebook and made his way for...well, somewhere private. With ten million people buzzing around, that turned out to be a really big challenge. He knew he had to be careful where he decided to go, in case someone checked his tracker, and he couldn't just leave a phone that was worth more than anything on the market laying around while he studied himself. It also had to be a place that made sense for teenage boys to go.

 

He chose a quiet tabletop game cafe sort of thing in Manhattan and wandered around back.

 

“Test one...do I need to take my shoes off?”

 

The alley was still wet from the rain a few days ago. At least, Peter hoped it was the rain that had caused everything to be soggy and puddly. He decided to keep his shoes on, just in case.

 

“Test one. Shoes on.”

 

He tried just touching the wall, but there was no success. He tried thinking sticking thoughts, and thoughts about sticky things. Neither of those were successful, either, though he did start craving waffles. Apparently, Captain America made amazing pancakes but didn't have a clue how to make waffles.

 

By test ten, he'd eliminated all the non-traumatizing options he could think of. At the back of his mind, he knew there was one common thread he'd been avoiding thinking about: Fear.

 

“Well, I wouldn't classify Ned getting pegged with a dodge ball scary,” he mumbled to himself as he wrote 'Test 11: Thinking about bad things.' “I definitely wasn't happy about that, though. And last night -"

 

He took in a sharp breath. His dreams were always hazy and hard to remember, but his mind had been so kind as to provide him a vivid interpretation as soon as he thought about the nightmare. Just the words 'do you want to talk about it' had made him ill. But now he was thinking about it. Now he was picturing it.

 

Now he could practically see the skin being melted off of Ben and May. It was awful. But he put his hands on the wall. And they stuck.

 

“Worst superpower ever,” he grumbled. What good was a power he could only use if he thought about awful things? “Now...let go.”

 

This one he was already figuring out. Think about happier things. Like his mom's waffles, or how funny it had been watching Ben and May play with his robot. Or Tony Stark complimenting him. As he was trying to focus on all those good things, some guys just around the corner started yelling at each other.

 

When he yanked his arm back, his hand didn't pull away.

 

“No no no no, let go!” he hissed at himself. His hand budged. No, that wasn't right. The bricks where what had budged. They cracked and threatened to loosen from the wall. “NO!” he hissed a bit louder. The shouting got a bit louder, and Peter pressed himself up against the wall. His sticky legs were not lost on him. “Focus focus focus focus – this is ok, this is not freaky, this is ok, I am ok. I am ok.” Apparently, the arguing voices were a worker taking out the trash and some customer who had a very opposite opinion on some D&D rule.

 

Peter took a deep breath. He was ok. Sticking to things wasn't going to hurt him. He was fine. It was weird, but weird wasn't always bad. He had always been weird, after all, and being weird had led him to being good at building things. Being weird meant he could be the next Tony Stark, as the guy who led the robotics camp had said.

 

“I'm ok.”

 

He may have been ok, but he was still sticky. Though sticky wasn't really the best term, now that he was actually studying it. It was more like static cling that wouldn't let go. And it was strong enough to break walls. Or...maybe _he_ was strong enough to break walls.

 

 

“I'm telling you Dan!” the first guy shouted, and Peter did something, well, ridiculous.

 

He climbed the wall.

 

And it worked.

 

His heart was racing, and he was panicking, but he was able to climb.

 

Maybe it wasn't all about thinking about awful things or calming things. Though he could think of ten awful things that could happen to him while stuck to a wall in a back ally. He pulled himself about halfway up the building as the guys went at it. He and Ned had started dabbling in D&D for fun. It certainly wasn't as high stakes as these two were making it out to be.

 

“Is this test 12 now?” he whispered to himself. “The accidental non-controlled wall-climbing for my life test?...Shiiiiiit.” His notebook was down there. Right beside the dumpster. At least it looked like it belonged, sort of. Though he did see the store worker drop the trash bag on top of it. “Oh come on. The dumpster isn't even full. Ughhh just go back inside.”

 

Not that he was sure of how he'd get back down.

 

Scratch that. As soon as they were gone he got back down. And he was not prepared for it.

 

He pressed his hands against his mouth to keep from screaming as he fell from the wall. He also braced to fall all the way down, but found his body practically moved on its own, quickly finding a balance that let him stay on his feet.

 

It didn't even hurt that much. Peter tossed the trashbag off of his notebook. Nothing had leaked or oozed on it at least.

 

“Test twelve: Caught off guard.” He detailed everything. Under test eleven he noted how he almost broke the wall, and under test twelve he detailed the feelings, the way his heart had hammered in his chest, the way his powers had just worked when he needed them to, and how he'd slipped as soon as he didn't need them anymore. And how neither of them had really been tied to his thoughts as much as how he felt, deep inside.

 

“Powers,” he whispered, resting his pen on the word. He really had just written that. “I...have a super power.” That's what it was, wasn't it? He stuck so well to walls that he could break them. Which meant he had to be strong enough to break walls. And climbing like that had felt like nothing. But last month he'd struggled to lift the 35 pound barbell in the gym.

 

“Test thirteen. Strength.” The first thing that caught his eye was the dumpster. He'd just...give it a little push.

 

Or a dent. He scurried back as a simple push easily bent the metal. “I'm strong. I'm...strong...and I stick to walls. Ok.” That was definitely slightly cooler. “...Is it genetic?”

 

A quick search on Steve Rogers' history dashed that idea right away. Captain America had started out as scrawny and sickly as he had been, and then one science innovation later he'd been turned into America's real life Uncle Sam. But that could also mean their genepool was more susceptible to, well, whatever caused Captain America to go from scrawny to the perfect human, physically speaking. And whatever had turned Peter into...a strong sticky person.

 

It had to have happened in the lab, because none of this happened before that day, and the first time something had stuck to him had been in the hospital. That stupid blanket. He could still write it off as static cling, but if there was one thing he was learning today it was that nothing should be written off. For all he knew, the way the city loudly buzzed in his ears and vibrated under his feet was also related.

 

“Actually...What if it is?” He flipped the notebook upside down and started writing his theories on the last page. “If only I could get a sample. I bet Jarvis can help me...no. Jarvis would tell Mr. Stark. Uhm, maybe I need to have some chemistry lessons with Dr. Banner first.” He'd watched the entire Crash Course playlist for chemistry, but it was one thing to know how chemistry worked and an entirely different thing to use that knowledge to figure out if a chemical that made skin melt had somehow mutated to make his skin stick.

 

Granted, he was sticking 'through' his shoes, so maybe it wasn't exactly his skin that was causing this.

 

This was going to need a lot more research.

 

And though it took extensive convincing that evening, as well as a lot of fawning over how amazing chemistry was and how badly Peter wanted to learn more, Peter was able to convince Steve to invite Dr. Banner over the next day for those promised chemistry lessons. Apparently Mr. Stark had gone back to California (and Happy was going to be following shortly with Ms. Potts, since Peter didn't seem to need an escort) and Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanov were on a mission. And the captain was a bit stir crazy.

 

Peter had noticed early on that he went out for a run every morning, and every evening, without fail. But the time in between was filled with a lot of, well, not much. He did a lot of reading, but it was clear he wanted to be doing.

 

Peter could relate.

 

Though, unlike when Pepper and Mr. Stark were here, Steve didn't use the time to go out. Since Peter would be completely busy with Dr. Banner all day, he used it to prepare lessons. That was going to be his job for the rest of this semester – training new SHIELD agents. Apparently, there was some kind of SHIELD school, and in New Jersey, no less, and he was going to be a guest teacher.

 

Technically he was also on call if the Avengers needed to do something, but aliens weren't exactly an everyday thing. At least, Peter hoped they wouldn't be. Throwing a nuke through their wormhole probably hadn't endeared them to any possible would-be overlords. But then, it had been over a year and there had been no further signs of interest. Maybe there were just other, better options. Worlds that didn't have Avengers putting up a fight.

 

Of course, since there definitely were aliens, Peter really hoped that meant there were also other kinds of guardians out there also preventing those kinds of things from happening. Maybe whatever planet Hulk had come from was filled with warriors who just...went out and defended those who needed defending. He seemed like a pretty take-nothing-from-no-one kind of guy.

 

“You are, wow, you're interested in this,” Dr. Banner complimented Peter after spending three hours answering an endless barrage of questions that ranged from 'how do you know if something you're mixing is toxic' to 'what are you studying now' to – well, just about anything. Peter, as a verifiable teenager, probably shouldn't have been so excited to be doing what was essentially school work on a Sunday, but this wasn't just any kind of school work. This was chemistry, as taught by world-famous scientist and Avenger brain, Dr. Banner.

 

“It's cool!” Peter replied.

 

“It really is,” Dr. Banner agreed. He acted like he didn't have a lot of friends who shared his interests. Peter could also relate to that. Even the other nerds in the school had found him to be a bit too nerdy.

 

Which...they weren't really wrong. He had signed up voluntarily to study chemistry when he could have been playing video games instead. 

 

But he had a reason for that. Besides just how interesting chemistry was. Because it was. After all, at the end of the day, Captain America only existed because of a really great chemistry innovation. And chemistry was also what had caused this mess in the first place, and, most likely, was also the reason Peter was sticking to walls now, and bending metal with his bare hands, and who knew what else.

 

Chemistry might be able to tell him what else.

 

“Hey, uh...so you're a really amazing scientist, uhm...do you know...anything about...what happened at Oscorp?”

 

The doctor froze, taking measured breaths as he contemplated his answer. “No. Well, I have heard the news. It-it's awful, and I hope Oscorp stops pursuing whatever caused it. Something that dangerous can't be good. And, uh, we should, uhm...talk about something else. It's...it's really very...upsetting. What happened. You shouldn't have to dwell on it. Why, uhm, why don't we try an experiment? I'm sure we've got some things around here we can use. Baking soda and vinegar is always a fun one.”

 

“We already made a volcano in fifth grade. What about chemical reactions that make things stick to walls?”

 

“Sticky things, huh? We can do that, too.” Like magic, Dr. Banner located some various common items in the kitchen and throughout Mr. Stark's tech lab to mix together. “Chemistry is a lot like coo-”

 

“Cooking, I've noticed,” Peter couldn't help but cut him off. “...Sorry.”

 

“No, no, you're really ahead of the curve on this. Does your school have advanced classes?”

 

“Uhm, kind of? The only kids that get in them are the really rich kids, or the school board's kids, and I am neither of those things...Or, wasn't?...” How much money did Steve have?...and did it even matter when Tony Stark was paying most of their bills, and SHIELD was paying for anything Mr. Stark didn't? “But Ned and I are planning on getting into Midtown next year. That's, uh, a really good science and technology high school. Even their basic classes are like advanced classes. I'll just catch up then.”

 

“You're already caught up. If you need a letter of recommendation, let me know.”

 

“Y-you'll – WOW, wow, wooow. Thanks, I'll, uh, I'll keep that in mind. Thank you. Thank you...Thanks.”

 

“Now, let's do some experimenting, shall we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after chapter 13 (the one that I wrote this week), I think I want to do a little time skip (to Christmas-ish time), but before I actually commit I'd really like to know if there's any early early spider stuff you'd like to see. I can't guarantee I'll do it (or maybe I already have and you don't know O: ), but I want to try to make sure I don't miss anything before I commit to a skip, even if this is actually a little skip in the grand scheme of things. We can't go back to the "oh woah I have powers now O: " phase once we move past it.


	10. Chapter 9

Chemistry lessons with Dr. Banner had been a lot of fun, even if they hadn't been exactly what Peter needed. It was, after all, 'the basics,' compared to what Peter needed. He was sure he'd get there if he kept up with the lessons, and Dr. Banner seemed to have enjoyed himself, too. At least, that was the impression Peter got from his reply when Steve asked: “Pete's not...bothering you, is he?”

 

He'd tried not to take Steve's question too hard. The captain seemed to be really sensitive to Dr. Banner's feelings on things. Moreso than he was with Mr. Stark's, and he was already extremely sensitive when it came to the billionaire. Or maybe he was just a sensitive guy who had noticed that, well, Peter could definitely annoy people. He could actually be very good at being an annoyance. And besides that, Dr. Banner's response told him that there was definitely a lot more going on than he really knew: “Talking about science never makes me mad. You don't have to worry about you-know-who visiting.”

 

The only explanation the internet provided was that he might have some kind of split personality disorder. Peter decided not to worry about it. Dr. Banner was an Avenger, so even if he did have some kind of Mr. Hyde buried inside, he was clearly doing a good enough job handling it.

 

After the lesson, Peter had turned the internet to use his new knowledge to explore the kinds of questions he wasn't sure he could ask about. The more he'd learned, the more he was sure he could solve the problem that was, well, him. He just needed to become an expert. Quickly. Without telling anyone who might drag him to a hospital for extensive testing. Would testing get the answers quicker? Probably. But they would also require potentially several trips to very hospital-like settings. That was not going to happen. And besides, May had always believed he would grow up to be a scientist. She was always saying he was a quick learner, when he wanted to be.

 

“You sure you're going to be ok here by yourself?” Steve fretted as he finished getting ready for his first day of 'work.' Captain America had a day job. Sure, he was training future international spies, but...Captain America had a day job.

 

“I've got Jarvis,” Peter reminded him.

 

“Who will call all of the Avengers if anything happens. Right, Jarvis?”

 

“Correct, Mr. Parker.”

 

“I don't think anyone on Earth could be more safe.”

 

“I wasn't talking about your physical safety,” his uncle chastised.

 

“Believe it or not, Aunt May and Uncle Ben let me stay home alone, and take myself to school, and -”

 

“I get it. I'm being over-protective, I know. I'm...I'm new to all this. And I'm worried about you.”

 

Peter offered the man a reassuring smile. “I'm fine. I'll be ok. I'll text you if that changes.”

 

“Ok. Well, then, have a good day.” The sun wasn't even up yet, but he had an 8AM class to be at. So he went on his way, leaving Peter to himself...alone in the apartment.

 

'For the first time,' Peter thought, looking up at the silent walls. Well, 'silent' in the way that anything in this city was silent anymore. Maybe he really was starting to actually recover.

 

“Jarvis? Could you...turn on the TV? It's really quiet in here.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

The early morning news lit up the living room. “Another penthouse was robbed last night. Police are warning everyone to hide their valuables when they are out so as not to make themselves clear targets. As of this morning, the weapons that they are using has not been identified, but we are sure at this point that it is no weapon we are familiar with. In an age of aliens and superheroes-”

 

Peter's eyes flickered between his laptop and the screen, unable to decide which to focus on.

 

When the next story came on, Oscorp's logo's appearance won out.

 

There was a whole good-morning segment about the lab. Specifically, about Oscorp's plans for the repairs. There was even a fancy CGI graphic showing the design plans for some of the swanky new features they were going to try out, now that several of the walls were gone. Thankfully, enough of the support beams had remained to keep the building from collapsing. “Osborn expects repairs to begin next week.”

 

“Not a word about the accident,” he grumbled as he switched the channel. May's favorite mind numbing bit of nothing, HGTV, was safe enough as they paid their daily homage to their granite gods by talking about those stupid counter tops every five seconds.

 

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anything that could properly numb his mind now. The Facebook group's conspiracy theorizing was rubbing off on him. He did, however, very quickly locate the newsreel uploaded on the news' website, and, when he looked closer at the graphics he realized they were only addressing the lower half of the building.

 

The upper floors, where all the business types would have been, seemed to have been largely unaffected, and, at the current moment, seemed quite uninhabited. Peter couldn't blame anyone for not wanting to risk touching that awful chemical just to get back to work, though.

 

He googled the lawsuit, and found nothing. He googled legal action against Oscorp. Nothing. He checked their Wikipedia page. The accident was barely a footnote.

 

“When several employees failed to follow safety protocols – ugh.”

 

It could be true. But Melissa was right – it didn't feel true. May was meticulous when it came to her work specifically because she knew it could be dangerous. Sure, her particular role didn't directly deal with the experiments, and sure, some of the other scientists or assistants or interns who actually did work directly with the experiments could have been less diligent. Maybe.

 

He took a deep breath and shook his head as memories threatened his vision again. Ben pushing him to the ground, Ben jumping on top to shield him from the blast.

 

Ben never stood a chance. And Oscorp just got to brush it under the rug like it was nothing.

 

Peter's eyes snapped open when he accidentally broke the TV remote's casing. “...Oops.” He needed to remember that he had unusual strength levels now. He'd never been strong before and now...well, now he really was living up to that 'related to Captain America' title.

 

He ran for the lab. Maybe there'd be something to fix it – it probably wasn't that broken. But he could break bricks with his sticky fingers now. A plastic remote really didn't stand a chance. “Uh, Jarvis, I don't suppose Mr. Stark has plastic?”

 

“Why would he have plastic?”

 

“I...broke the back on the remote.” And the sides. And the top part had a crack now. The rubber buttons were alright, probably because they were squishy.

 

“My apologies, but Mr. Stark uses stronger materials. There are some metal sheets on hand.” A panel in the wall popped open to reveal sheets of metal in varying sizes and thicknesses.

 

“Woah...Uhm. Was he going to use that for something?”

 

“Prototypes and repairs. I can alert him that you borrowed some.”

 

“No! Uh, let me see if I can even use it first. No sense in telling him I thought about borrowing if I can't even actually borrow it...Does he have tools here, too?”

 

To that question, the table's top lifted and spread out, revealing an engineer's dream. Well, a small version of it. Peter definitely would've loved to have a giant lab like the one Mr. Stark had in his California mansion – he'd seen it on a documentary once. Just once. And it had been very notably and specifically empty of anything Mr. Stark was working on. But Peter had still gotten stars in his eyes, just looking at the workspace. Still, for now, and for him, this was a nice little workstation that was perfect for a, sure, large for it's location but definitely still no mansion of a penthouse.

 

“I don't suppose you could pull up the schematics for this remote, too? So I can make sure I don't mess up any wires. On command, the schematics appeared literally on the wall. Not as a projection, but an actual screen. Because of course the wall could double as a screen. This was Mr. Stark's mini-Iron Man-lab after all. If this was what he could accomplish in a couple of weeks, Peter really desperately wanted to see what was being done inside Avenger's tower. “Perfect.”

 

How different could it be from building a robot? Just connect the right wires, make sure the outer casing looked nice...and, thankfully, the chips and other harder-to-fix stuff seemed to be undamaged, despite his best crushing efforts.

 

Peter barely glanced up for the next four hours, and his end result was...well, at least he could tell Steve that he had been experimenting with it, rather than trying to find an excuse to explain how he crushed its casing. He'd also found this new strength also came in handy when he needed to bend and shape the various pieces of metal, especially since Jarvis seemed very keen on not letting him use anything too dangerous, and, since he'd seen where all the cameras in the house were located, he was able to situate himself just so at the workbench to know that none of his metal bending skills would be caught on one.

 

“Whew.” He held up his project with the pride of a child at an art show. “Not bad, don't you think?”

 

“Scans show that it should be functional, sir.”

 

“Great.” A rumble in his stomach reminded him that the sun was high in the sky and he hadn't even eaten breakfast yet. “Uh...I'm going to go out for lunch.”

 

“May I ask where, Sir?”

 

“Delmar's. Uh, Deli and Grocery. It's a bodega. I go there all the time. They know me.”

 

“Very good, Sir.” The TV Peter had forgotten to turn off went silent, and the lights throughout the entire apartment went dark.

 

“...Thanks.”

 

“Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Parker.”

 

He didn't realize he'd left his phone at home until he was halfway through Queens. By the time he did, he realized he felt more relieved than anything that it wasn't with him. He was being monitored like, well, a baby. And while he knew a lot of it came from a valid concern, he was also still a person. He could easily get lunch just fine on his own. Or so he thought, until he got off the subway and realized this station put him right up the road from the one place he never wanted to think about again.

 

On the outside, the tower looked harmless. Like nothing had changed, and nothing ever would. It had been built in the 70s but still worked just fine. Norman Osborn didn't necessarily need all of his buildings to be flashy and shiny. Sure, he was working on a whole new Oscorp compound in Jersey that was the definition of flashy and shiny, but this inconspicuous lab was still very useful.

 

That was what May had told him, when she was insisting that no matter what, they would not be moving to New Jersey. Even if Oscorp tripled her salary. They wouldn't shut this lab down, she was sure of it. Apparently, she was right. For now, at least, Osborn had decided this building was worth keeping.

 

Peter's feet glued to the sidewalk across the street.

 

Three weeks ago, he'd been here with Ben, ready to visit May. They'd had hot dogs. It had been sunny.

 

Today was pretty cloudy, but it wasn't likely to rain until after sunset. There was a bit of a chill, but that was normal for early October. And in that tower, there were answers.

 

Peter saw a whole flock of workers leaving the scene, heading for their own lunch. And, suddenly, his feet propelled him forward. The blaring honk of the car startled him out of his trance. No, it was more that the very hairs on his body alerted him that the car was about to honk. His brain felt like it was...vibrating? Buzzing like the city around him, but more urgent. And, before he knew what had happened, his legs stretched out in a leap to the sidewalk without even consulting him first. He looked back at the taxi driver as his heart raced.

 

“DAMN KID! GO TO SCHOOL!” the driver yelled, giving him the finger. Somehow, the driver hadn't noticed. Or maybe he just hadn't cared. The kid he almost hit hadn't been hit, after all. Even if that kid did just do a jump that could make Olympic track stars take notice. Lost tourists, however, were staring. One reached for their phone.

 

“Sorry! Just on my way to a, uh, dentist appointment!” he found himself yelling. 'Smile. Smile and wave. Wave and smile.' He smiled, and he waved. And the angry taxi driver moved on, and the pedestrians moved on. And the whole world moved on. “Did I really just...Super strength. That...that's it. It's not just in the arms. Super strength is in the whole body. My legs are really strong, too.”

 

All the answers to all of his questions were just inside the tower. All he had to do was go inside, take a look around, and hopefully get some samples. He could do that. He was super strong and he stuck to walls. Captain America could get in and get samples and more, and he just had super strength. Well, as far as Peter knew.

 

No one had ever seen Captain America crawl up a wall, but then, he was pretty sure no one had ever asked for that, either. Maybe he could, and that was just a secret he never felt he needed to share. It was a weird ability, after all. And probably not all that dignified. More on the creepy side, actually. It would be really scandalous if America's hottest man alive (for the second year running, if only because this was the second year that the public was aware of his current status as, well, alive) suddenly started crawling up a wall like a spider.

 

Peter gave his surroundings a quick glance, pulled his hood up, and darted around back. Going in the front door was obvious. He knew that much. He also knew there had to be a back door because no one ever hauled the trash out the front door in buildings like these. What he forgot to consider was that the lack of equipment out front meant that the back door was also probably where they were hauling out everything that was considered contaminated.

 

Their make-shift walls were flimsy, but effective. The hazard signs letting any would-be trespassers know. that Oscorp would not be responsible if their skin started corroding off their bodies probably deterred most people, though at least one graffiti artist had proudly tagged the wall. Peter took a deep breath.

 

“All I have to do...is climb.” He was able to stick to the walls when he felt a need to do so, and he had a need to do so now. Just upstairs. Really, he was the only person who could do this, thanks to his ability. Anyone who was able to legally get in here would probably be too late, and everything would be cleaned up, and Oscorp's statement would be the true one because there would be no evidence proving otherwise.

 

“Ok, Sticky Fingers – yeah, no, that is not going to be my superhero name. Not a chance.” He placed his hands on the wall. Then his feet. Then he was no longer standing on the ground, and in the next moment he was able to climb the wall like it was nothing more than a ladder. All he had to do was focus on his need to climb. His need to get to his end goal. May's reputation was on the line.

 

And, if he was actually going to be honest with himself for once, he just needed to know. He couldn't even remember what happened. A few booming sounds, Ben grabbing him, then the hospital. He didn't even have any head injuries. He just...couldn't remember.

 

Climbing was so much easier than before, now that he'd actually consciously done it. He pressed his face against a second-level window.

 

At the front of the building was a lobby that was so tall it spanned four whole floors. When he was eleven, Ben had joked about letting him do an egg drop experiment from up there. He'd taken it very seriously at the time, and May had come to Ben's rescue by working with some neighbors to let him do tests out their windows instead. Oscorp was patient with family visits, but they wouldn't have been patient with a little terror, even if the terror was in the name of science. Most of his eggs had survived, too.

 

Here, at the back of the building, everything was quiet and still and dark. When he squinted, he could see that there wasn't even any damage. That made sense. The bad stuff had mostly been at the front. Did that make sense though? They said the second through fourth floors had been affected, but May's lab was on the fourth floor only. If it had come from just her lab, how had the other floors been damaged like that? Maybe the chemical had corroded downward? That didn't explain the explosion sound(s?) he remembered. Peter pressed on. The third and fourth floors were equally eerie, though he accidentally stumbled on what looked to be a bit of a planning area on the fourth.

 

Goosebumps started to prickle on his arms even though there wasn't a breeze. “I swear, does my arm look red?” echoed around the building's corner. “No.”

 

“But I think I touched it -”

 

“Your arm isn't red, Ty.” The crew was coming back from lunch. Peter pushed on the windows, but nothing was giving way. Well, any of them could give way, but not in the way he wanted them to. He didn't want to break glass. One, that would hurt, and, two, there was probably an alarm system in place.

 

“Crap crap crap crap crap,” he hissed, crawling from window to window, even trying the fifth floor, then the sixth – on the seventh, one finally pushed at his grip. “Thank you for not locking your window!” he whispered, tumbling right through. He was also grateful for cheapskates not paying extra to put safety screens in old buildings. Quickly, he pushed the window shut behind him and peered down to the alley below. The crew went on about their business as usual. “And...now I'm stuck.”

 

He took another deep breath to steel his nerves and glanced around. He'd never been past the fourth floor before, not even when he was granted a tour. Everything above the fourth floor was mostly offices. Sure, most of those offices were still used in the research process, but that was where all the boring stuff happened, like inputting data or making presentations or brainstorming. This particular office looked like it belonged to one person, given that there was one desk. There were a few pieces of décor, but the room was pretty bare.

 

The computer lit up when Peter bumped the desk. “That's not good for your computer,” he mumbled. Then he noticed the nameplate. “Doctor Amadei,” he read. “You're the doctor in charge of May's study...and if the chemical came from May's lab...”

 

He sat down at the desk, shuffling through papers until he found a list that looked like a bunch of passwords. Dozens were scratched out. Lots of kids at school had lists like these, since the school computers required them to change their passwords every 30 days. To keep it straight, they wrote the new one down and scratched out the old one. A researcher like this obviously had a couple dozen systems that needed their own passwords, some of them would be on different time limits...so Peter started trying passwords.

 

Amadei had a theme – horses. They also liked the star symbol as their 'special character' as well as variants on 1984 to meet their number requirements. The worst that would happen is he'd accidentally lock Amadei out of the computer. Except, the fourth password on the list took him to a desktop. “You really should be more careful, Doctor,” he said to no one as he put the sheet back where he'd found it. The doctor had clearly not been prepared to leave. Though the session had timed out from everything, they hadn't even closed any of his programs.

 

Even though it was a 100% invasion of privacy and quite illegal, Peter dug in. Between the emails and the files, there was...well, too much to go through for a kid who was only supposed to be out getting lunch at a local bodega. Luckily, there was a nice little portable hard drive with an adorable little cartoon octopus design on it plugged into the computer.

 

Peter didn't even think before using it. Well, he did pause make sure it wasn't password-protected, and that it had enough space. Both were true. But he didn't hesitate to copy all the files. He could go through them later, when it was safe and when he had time.

 

“It's not stealing...ok, it is stealing. But I'm not taking the only copies of anything, and I'm not selling it to competitors. I'm just trying to find out the truth.”

 

While the information copied, Peter went to take a peek out of the office door. It was locked. "You had time to lock your door, but not properly protect your computer?" he questioned. "Well, I suppose you probably didn't know what had happened." He turned the lock and leaned out of the office to get a look around. There was a wide-open room filled with cloth cubicles. A bit old-fashioned, but effective. This could've been any other office out of any 90s romcom. Because it would definitely be a romcom. A really boring one that thought it was hilarious but was actually the dullest thing he'd seen since the last boring romcom.

 

After about an hour had passed, the copying finally finished and Peter pocketed his contraband and locked the computer. “Should I – yes. Wipe prints.” He pulled his hoodie sleeve over his hand and quickly gave a wipe to everything he'd touched. Someone had once told him that fingerprinting wasn't anything like it was in movies and games, but he wasn't going to take a risk. The last thing he wanted was to be caught. “Captain America can't have a criminal for a nephew...though technically I already am one.”

 

He paused, trying very hard to feel bad, but he didn't. He wasn't going to hurt anyone, and he desperately needed answers. Sure, it was illegal, but he wasn't being malicious. “You know,” he said to no one. “Technically, Mr. Stark went full vigilante, before creating the Avengers and making things legal. And that is also illegal, but I don't think anyone is about to start scolding him for not letting Hammer Tech kill everyone at the Expo. But...I am never breaking the law again after this. Never.”

 

It just felt gross. And Peter had enough things making him feel gross right now, from losing his family to puberty. He didn't need to add more to it.

 

Downstairs, everyone was still hard at work removing debris and wrapping it up for transport. Peter supposed he could try going up and jumping to the next building over – apparently he had the legs for it, now – but he didn't really want to test out his sticking abilities when falling from 12 stories up. That didn't leave him with many options. Or, well, any options, really. Other than waiting. But he didn't want to do that.

 

He promised Jarvis he was only going out to get lunch, and he'd already been gone for an hour and a half, at least. So Peter started wandering downwards. If he acted like he belonged, he could probably just walk right out the front door and no one on the streets would notice. He'd just have to wait until the lobby was empty. That plan fell apart as soon as his foot touched the fourth floor landing.

 

Through the stairwell door's window, he could see directly into the lab area where May would have been working. Where the problem had supposedly begun. And the lab was completely undamaged.

 

'Completely' was probably an overstatement. There were signs of chaos. Chairs tipped over, papers flung across the floor. Signs that people had left in a hurry. There was not, however, a single sign that the most corrosive chemical known to man had exploded in here. There were also no people. Peter tugged the drawstring on his hood tight, so that only his nose and eyes peered through the hole. His hands were shaking, and his heart was racing, and his stomach was threatening to throw up all the lunch he hadn't eaten.

 

“This is where it happened...Supposedly.” Maybe. Most likely?

 

Actually...

 

He didn't know what lab destruction looked like, but from the look of some of the furniture he'd seen the workers carrying out, this probably wasn't it. “This is a bad idea.” He pushed in anyway. The lights were on but the room was otherwise untouched. Clearly, this was on the agenda for clean up at some point, just not right this second. Peter again felt that he should be feeling something. Sadness. Misery. Emptiness. Something normal. But all he felt, aside from an actually quite normal dose of fear, was a boiling anger, deep inside. And the more he looked around, the more his anger grew. But then he found her badge, laying on a desk with her name stuck to it.

 

“They said...the damage was so bad...” he mumbled, picking the badge up. This room wasn't damaged. May hadn't died in this room.

 

Peter could have smashed the desk in front of him in that moment, but that tingling sensation from before started up again. He felt the urge to duck, or hide, or at least move. And so he did, tucking down behind the desk just in time for the door to _fwip_ open.

 

“Woah, hey, in here!” the worker called out. “I think we've finally hit the mother load.”

 

“Its untouched!” his companion replied. “...do you think Oscorp will miss it?”

 

“They said clear out all affected floors. This is on an affected floor. Oohh, the Boss is going to love this.”

 

“I dunno, this ain't no alien exoskeleton.”

 

“Top of the line computers in good condition? He'll love it. You still need to get your basic parts from somewhere. And heey look at this chair, isn't it fancy? You know his old chair is, well. Duct tape only goes so far. Alright, tell Sal to get us a fresh truck. We need to take care of the good cargo. And hurry. Norman himself might be stopping by tomorrow. The last thing we want is for him to realize his mistake.”

 

Thankfully, they walked away quickly. Peter's stomach churned. Did Oscorp even know this place was undamaged? That seemed like an important detail to just leave out of a cleanup contract, especially when these computers had secret scientific data on them that could be worth millions of dollars...or more. Peter didn't know that much about the research, other than May thought it would revolutionize healthcare if they were successful. Maybe it would put a lot of people out of business, then. But Oscorp wouldn't be funding it if they didn't think they could profit off of it, regardless of who else got shut down in the process.

 

He didn't have a clue what to do. He didn't even have a phone. He couldn't call anyone, he couldn't take pictures. Once those guys cleared the place out, he was the only person who was going to know about this. And there was nothing he could do about it.

 

Well, there was one thing. He wrote a note. In cursive, so as to try to make it harder to identify who wrote it. Not that his handwriting was great to begin with...but that could be a giveaway in its own right.

 

_Dear Norman Osborn,_

 

_The lab your company is saying the damage originated in isn't damaged at all. The work crew is cleaning out everything in it anyway. Thought you should know._

 

_Your Friendly Neighborhood_

 

He scratched out the last part. 'Sticky fingers' was the best thing he had so far, but that was just so lame. And he definitely wasn't a hero, or friend, and he couldn't sign his own name. So he just left it at 'thought you should know.'

 

It was still stupid. So stupid. But it was the right thing to do.

 

Maybe Mr. Osborn didn't know. Big CEOs like him were so far above most things in their own companies, it was possible – no, extremely likely that he was just going off what he'd been told, just like basically everyone. Maybe he'd do the right thing.

 

Probably.

 

After all, didn't most people want to do the right thing? So Peter scurried back upstairs to find an office that looked sufficiently up-the-ladder enough to maybe stand a chance of getting this note to him. This would mean a lot to a lot of people if he was right, so he had to try.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This chapter is 5 pages long without paragraph breaks
> 
> Sad fact: When I was about to post, the editor here deleted all of my paragraph breaks
> 
> Lesson: Don't trust the AO3 editor and always make sure you have a backup
> 
> Sorry it's late guys. I did not keep my back up at the ready and...it took a while to re-insert the paragraph breaks. And if any of the paragraphs seem a bit wonky, that's why. I can't shake the nagging feeling I missed some.
> 
> (And bonus cookies to anyone who figured out who owns the clean-up crew. Even future well off criminals need to build their way up, and what better way than to get paid to collect people's junk...that you can make great use of? Besides, everyone needs a job title to put on their taxes each year. "Illegal Weapons Maker" isn't exactly going to fly under the radar.)


	11. Chapter 10

 

“Ok. It's not that far. It's not. That. Far.”

 

The lobby had mostly cleared out since the guy in charge told the crew to take a breather. They were waiting on Sal to 'bring the truck around' to haul off those computers. It was clear he was well aware that he was stealing things that were outside of the contract since the few guys that remained all seemed to be on the same page as him as they hauled down perfectly good, very much unmelted computers. That meant there was a clear shot to the front door.

 

Peter just had to climb down the wall - since he'd be easily spotted from the stairs - and break his way out a first-floor window, then run like someone had installed jets in his legs. No big deal.

 

But it sure was dizzying to look at how far he would be falling if it didn't work.

 

“It's not that far. You are made for this. Literally made. By weird freaky science that was developed in _this_ building. If there was ever a time for weird freaky powers, it's now. Before they come back.”

 

Of course, Peter could hear the loud clanking of their dolly being dragged back inside for its next load. He had to go, now. Right now. So...he did. He swung himself over the railing and grabbed for the wall, sticking as efficiently as he had when he was heading upwards. “Reliability is the best thing you can hope for,” he mumbled. That was an old thing both his mom and Ben had said. What they meant was that you didn't need the best tools or the fanciest gadgets as long as what you had got the job done and didn't fall apart on you. But it applied to sticking to walls several floors from the ground, too.

 

And so he slid downwards. “This isn't so bad, not at all. See? You're ok. You're fine. Look, there's the ground. Just two more floors. Yep. Then I run.”

 

The drawstrings on his hoodie loosened as he made his way down, but the hood itself didn't fall. Thankfully. The hairs on his arms alerted him that trouble was about to come his way.

 

“...HEY! H-hey you, what, how – what?!” echoed over top of a pair of running feet. Peter didn't have time to re-configure his plan, or really even to think. He needed to leave. He needed to get to the door.

 

So...he pushed off from the wall. He had super strength and super sticking – those two things he was sure of. The strength in his legs propelled him halfway across the lobby. But there was something else, something he couldn't quite explain, deep in his gut, keeping everything focused and balanced. Something that kept him upright when he hit the ground. He didn't question it. Now was very much not the time.  
  


“STOP!” the man was yelling. “COME BACK HERE!” And running. The guy was definitely running. Peter could hear and just  _feel_  they guy's feet on the ground. It wasn't feeling like he normally felt things. Maybe there wasn't even a word for it. But he could definitely feel something.

 

“NO!” Peter yelled back as he aimed for the door. Somehow, he hadn't collapsed in a ball. His ankles weren't sprained, his lungs weren't collapsing in a blazing fire inside his chest.

 

He was breathing just fine. He wasn't having an asthma attack. He was running like an athlete. And also he stuck to walls and had super strength and – Now was not the time. He could tally up his abilities later.

 

When he burst from the front of the building, he still didn't stop running. He let his feet carry him all the way to Delmar's. And they did. And his lungs didn't give out. “Ah, here he is now – Peter! Your cousin is on the phone!” Mr. Delmar called out as he tumbled through the door.

 

“He – oh, I'm fine. Tell him I'm fine.” Jarvis. Of _course_ he'd tattle.

 

“He wants to know where you've been.”

 

“Walking. Uhm, clearing my head, I uh, had a lot...a lot on my mind.”

 

“He says walking. Clearing his head...Alright, I'll tell him. But you should know, he's a good boy. He won't cause trouble.” Mr. Delmar clicked the phone down on the receiver. “You have a good family.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You shouldn't scare him like that. I don't appreciate panicked calls from customer's parents.”

 

“I didn't mean to. I forgot my phone at home.” 

 

Mr. Delmar just waved his hands in exasperation. He had a store to run, he didn't need any teens to babysit on top of it. “You want your usual?”

 

“Yeah, please, thank you.” His stomach was grumbling up a storm. “Do you have notebooks?”

 

“We have some school planners.” Mr. Delmar gestured towards a clearance display.

 

“That'll do. And a pen. Thank you.” Peter's hand hovered over the various hideous planner designs that were left, eventually steeling on a garish orange and turquoise striped number. It was the best of the worst. “Uhm. How...how long were you on the phone?”

 

“Your cousin has been checking in for the last hour. That was his third call.”

 

“...Right.”

 

Maybe telling Steve would be a good idea. Super strength was nothing to sneeze at, and there was really only one person alive who actually knew what it was like to suddenly be strong enough to bend metal. And, with good training, if someone did find out about him and tried to use him to get to the Avengers, then he would have a line of defense rather than being dangerous dead weight.

 

He also had sticking to things. That would help him run away. These powers meant he wasn't a liability. They meant he...well...he could be an Avenger, too, someday.

 

No. That was ridiculous. There was a chance the world would never need the Avengers again at all. But...Thor and Loki and the giant flying centipedes were aliens, and if they were out there, there could be a lot more worse things out there. Even if they didn't show up in the next thirty years. Earth would need defenders in the future.

 

Why couldn't he be one of them?

 

“Here you go. That'll be $10.00 even.” Peter fished for his wallet but found only $9 inside.

 

“I...uhm, I'm sorry - “ With a hearty laugh, Mr. Delmar pushed his sandwich over to his side of the counter.

 

“You're always a bit short, aren't you Peter?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Go home, kid.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Right after he wrote down all his notes.

 

Peter quickly wandered his way to an empty bench on a quiet street, nibbling at his sandwich as he wrote everything he could think of down on that day's date.

 

_Full body super-strength – really good jumping distance. 30 feet at least._

_Wall sticking more reliable, as long as I focus on that feeling of needing to stick to the wall._

_I can see better. I probably don't need glasses anymore._

_No more asthma?_

_Suddenly good at running?_

_And jumping_

_I could be a track star_

 

The notes weren't the most beautiful thing in the world, but they were the best he could do as he found that he was struggling to keep his thoughts straight. For a Monday in October in a part of the city that was really about as quiet as it could get, the city was still alive with people who weren't at work, or school, or anywhere that would keep them from running and shouting and honking and buzzing and barking.

 

_Why can I hear everything? Why can I feel everything?_

 

He couldn't quite hear and feel everything. But at the same time, he could. It was something he couldn't even begin put to words just yet, but his senses definitely felt like they were in overdrive. And, now that he was being honest with himself and considering every little thing that was different now than it had been before, that was a big one. The biggest, in a way. He had already found a balance when it came to his strength - as long as he was gentle, he didn't break anything - and he could easily get by without randomly adhering to walls. But he could never turn off the world around him.

 

Technically, nothing there had changed. There were the same October birds singing their last songs of the year, the same squirrels scurrying to gather their winter meals. The same tourists, the same joggers, the same crying babies. The same blaring security sirens coming from somewhere down the street.

 

The same pair of thugs dressed all in black, bolting around the corner in broad daylight – wait, that wasn't the same as usual.

 

“That looks like a scene straight out of a comic book,” Peter mumbled as the two guys came barreling up the sidewalk. One was kind of normal sized, but the other was an absolute mountain of a human being. The normal one had one of those reusable grocery bag things slung over his shoulder, filled to the brim by the lumpy look of it, while the mountain had...Peter wasn't sure what it was. It wasn't a gun, but it wasn't not a gun either. Maybe it was that thing the news had been talking about.

 

Not that it mattered. Weapons of any sort were kind of well above the '13 year old with super strength' skill level. But he was the only person here. And these guys were definitely robbing someone.

 

In broad daylight. Which meant they were very confident they were going to get away with this. Peter scrunched up on his bench as they bulleted past him. His hand darted instinctively for his phone. The police should be handling this -

 

But his phone was stuck in a couch cushion in Mr. Stark's gifted penthouse. He couldn't hear the police coming. They probably hadn't even had time to get to the store these guys had robbed yet.

 

A shriek pulled Peter to his feet. A lady had come jogging around the corner with her dog – a big fella. Or...girl? And the dog was none too pleased with how the mountain had shoved the lady out of the way. Peter bolted up the walk as he saw the mountain man point his weapon at the dog as the dog latched onto his smaller companion's pant leg. “Leave her alone!” he found himself yelling.

 

He would never be caught saying he made good decisions.

 

The fist swung around, connecting with the center of his face like a boulder. The force should have knocked someone much bigger than him to the ground, but as his hands darted up to cup his bleeding nose and the bubbling pre-pain that was definitely going to get worse later seeped into his face, he found an equilibrium he also had never had before was keeping him on his feet...just like when he'd bolted for the door. 

 

_'Note to self: Add 'super balance' to list of powers.'_

 

The dog let out a loud snarl as the other guy kicked at them, his bag left on the ground with antique-looking jewelry falling out of it. The lady was on the ground. Her knee was bleeding, but she didn't look too badly hurt. Not that it mattered to her noble best friend.

 

The mountain turned back to attack the dog again, this time lifting his weapon, but Peter couldn't let that happen. “Isn't a jewelry store heist kinda cliché?” he heard his voice quipping as he put himself between the two.

 

“MOVE,” the mountain warned.

 

“Aw, don't wanna shoot a kid? But shooting a dog is perfectly fine, right?” There was no way he looked heroic. Blood was dripping down his chin. But he was feeling a bit heroic. Wasn't this what heroes did? Looked out for the people who couldn't look out for themselves? Be it fighting aliens or protecting a lady's dog from mean robbers. He had the powers. He needed to do something. “You know,” his mouth continued to run away with him, “it's not nice to steal things. Didn't you learn that in kindergarten?”

 

“Just shoot them!” the smaller guy yelled. “They said it shouldn't kill humans.”

 

Well, that was slightly comforting information.

 

“I'm not gonna hurt you,” the mountain yelled back. The little guy was directly behind Peter, which meant he was also kind of in the line of fire himself. That was also information Peter could work with.

 

“Leave us alone!” the lady yelled, pulling back on her dog's leash. Immediately, the dog returned to her side, though the noble canine stayed securely between her and the people who'd shoved her to the ground in the first place.

 

“Call 9-1-1!” Peter encouraged. Thankfully, she listened.

 

The mountain swung his weapon like a sword, and Peter felt the very pores on his body tingling as the barrel came for his temple. His body ducked. It just came so naturally. It made sense. Tingle then dodge. That was another thing he'd have to put on his list. But he definitely wasn't going to call it 'tingling.' That word was very not-heroic.

 

And over-thinking it left him distracted, giving the mountain the opening to grab him up by his hoodie. The man easily yanked Peter up to the very points of his toes. “I'm going to say this one, brat. Sit down, shut up, leave us alone.”

 

“There's robbers attacking us – we're on the corner of -” the lady was yelling into her phone. The smaller guy lunged at her, despite the dog. Of course, the dog wasn't about to let that happen. The man started punching before the teeth made contact, but the dog bit down regardless. He didn't even stop when the girl lunged to protect her dog – he just started punching her, too.

 

So...Peter punched, too. He couldn't remember if he was supposed to keep his thumb out or in so he just did what felt right and punched.

 

And immediately regretted it. His fingers started throbbing immediately, but the mountain did at least let go of him. He even let out a hearty 'OOF' as he stumbled back. Peter took the chance to help the lady, shocked as he was able to easily pull the smaller man away from her. As before, the good dog preferred to stay at her side rather than give chase.

 

“Shit, how strong are you?” the guy let out.

 

“I don't know,” Peter replied. For some reason, mouthing off like this was helping him feel more confident in his decisions, bad though they were.

 

“Stand back,” the mountain commanded his friend, lifting the weapon again.

 

This time, he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, giving Peter the chance to find out if 'shouldn't kill' meant 'wouldn't' first hand. The way his body seized up and the world suddenly turned into a pure fuzzy static made him think it most certainly could. For a moment, the world was...well, not quite black, but nothing all the same. He knew he was seeing things, but he couldn't see. He knew he was hearing things, but he couldn't hear. He knew he was on the ground, but he couldn't feel it.

 

The first thing his senses picked up was sirens zipping up, and other sirens zipping by. His eyes focused, seeing the dog, seeing the lady. She really did have the goodest dog. It stayed glued to her side, its ears alert as the police arrived on the scene. She seemed partially affected by the weapon, judging by the way she was curled up on the ground, but the dog was fine. Peter figured he'd taken the entire brunt of what would've hit them.

 

“Two victims, and a dog,” reached his ears. “We might need an ambulance.”

 

Peter still couldn't move. His muscles were still tightly clenched, forcing his body to be curled up on the ground. When he tried to scream 'No,' nothing came out. So the cops called that ambulance. And the lady sat up. And he heard the radio announce they'd caught two would-be robbers just a few blocks away - one of them was limping from the dog's bite. And his brain was thudding. And...and they were sending an ambulance.

 

In that moment, he could have cried. He literally couldn't do anything else, and everything hurt, and had he really accomplished anything?

 

An officer had found his notebook and the stolen portable hard drive that had apparently fallen out of his pocket on the ground. “This yours, kid?” she asked him.

 

“Yes,” he whispered. He needed to not lose those. Or let anyone see them.

 

“You're a creative type, huh?” she said. “Writing a book, drawing some comics?”

 

“Yeh.” Right. Suddenly, getting superpowers was a cool idea for a work of fiction, rather than reality. He could run with that. Or, rather, lie here and not cry with that. The officer knelt down beside him, gently reaching out to check for injuries.

 

“Can you tell me what hurts?”

 

No. But he didn't say that out loud.

 

“Ok, let's try it this way, I can see you got hit in the nose. Were you hit anywhere else?”

 

“No...yes?” Clearly something had happened. He was a little, slowly melting pain-ball.

 

“You're gonna be ok. We've seen this before. So far, no one's actually been hurt by it. You should be able to move again in a few minutes.”

 

“No am...amber...am-boo-lance...” The 'bu' syllable in ambulance was apparently still too much for his muscles.

 

“Help will be here soon.”

 

“No! _No._ ”

 

“You're going to be ok, kid. I'm going to put your stuff back in your hoodie pocket, ok?”

 

“Yeh.” He wasn't going to be able to explain his situation like this. He wasn't sure he would be able to explain himself at all, even if he had proper use of his muscles. 'I don't want them to experiment on me and also I think my brain will shut down' didn't seem sensible. But he was very afraid that those things would happen. If they found out he wasn't quite human anymore, would they want to 'cure' him? And if it was anything like his last visit, he was sure he wouldn't be able to tell them to stop. He was barely keeping himself together laying here on the sidewalk.

 

He regained control of his limbs as the ambulance was arriving. “Alright, Kid, here's your ride -”

 

“Please just take me home, I'm fine.”

 

“No, you're not. You could have a broken nose. You need to see a doctor. Let this be a lesson not to skip school.”

 

“I didn't skip school – I'm on mental health leave, cos I...I was in the Oscorp lab when it blew up.” He didn't want to play on the sympathy card, but his desire to avoid hospitals at all costs was even stronger. “Please, _please_ don't make me go back to the hospital.” Though it came out a bit whinier than he wanted, at least it was honest. “Please. I'll do anything. I can't...the screaming, the crying, th-the...melting, please don't make me go back there.” Was this what Mr. Stark felt when people brought up the attack on New York? Was that why he always had access to an escape route? Peter would have loved to have a suit himself right then, so he could crawl into its cocoon shell and fly far, far away.

 

“Woah, woah, ok...ok. Let's...how about we have someone take a look, and go from there, alright? What's your name?”

 

“Peter.”

 

“Ok, Peter. Do you have your mom or dad's phone number?”

 

“Cousin. I uh...don't...er...I...forgot my phone, at home...and I don't know his number yet? I just met him after my uh...after the Oscorp accident killed...Er...CPS knows it. Ms. Angie Harrison handled my case.”

 

“...I'll give them a call.” She lifted her hand to wave over an EMT, whispering the situation to him. Peter couldn't hear it, for once. He did, however, hear the radio saying that one of the robbers may have had some broken ribs, but how they didn't think the dog caused that one.

 

“...I broke his ribs?” Peter whispered. That wasn't supposed to happen. Peter didn't mean to hurt anyone. He just didn't want anyone to _get_ hurt, either.

 

Within the next thirty minutes, the police had managed to get through to Steve and let him know where to come pick his nephew, and the EMT had assessed his condition as 'your nose is most likely broken, but doesn't need to be adjusted.' Peter didn't mention his aching fingers. He did notice a reflection of himself, and there was a clear bruise forming across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. At least they'd been able to wipe the blood off his chin. That didn't save his hoodie, though.

 

Steve arrived fairly soon after, in an all black car driven by someone Peter could only guess was a SHIELD agent, given that it looked like they had a uniform on. The Captain glanced at him, but went to the police first.

 

“Shit,” the kid hissed. And it felt pretty good to say, too, given how much trouble he was pretty sure he was in. Luckily, as famous as his face was, the jeans-and-a-tshirt Steve that showed up today wasn't heavily photographed. No one seemed to realize who he really was. At least that was one conversation they could put off for another day.

 

The driver came over and helped him up, offering him a gentle smile. At the shock on Peter's face, he said “we're agents, not frost giants,” - whatever that was supposed to mean.

 

Steve didn't speak the entire ride home, either. Or the ride up the elevator. Or even to Jarvis when the AI greeted their return. Or when he located Peter's phone and tossed it to him. In fact, he didn't speak until he'd pulled Peter to the kitchen and sat him down on a stool.

 

Underneath the dangling lights over their breakfast bar, the Captain crossed his arms and Peter tried to shrink out of existence. So this was what an interrogation felt like.

 

“You mind telling me what happened today?” were the first words he spoke. They were sharp and on edge. Frustrated. Maybe angry. Peter wasn't sure he could tell.

 

“I, uh, went to get lunch and -”

 

“Don't lie to me. You left at eleven and didn't get to Delmar's until after one. I was going to just let that go, since I'm sure you needed space, and air, and some time to figure yourself out. But then not even an hour later I get a call that you've been...shot.” There really wasn't a better word for it. He hadn't been shot by a gun, but he'd still been shot by a weapon. Steve knew all too well what kind of weapons could exist besides guns. He remembered watching his fellow soldiers vanish in a flash of blue light in the war.

 

Peter took a deep breath, weighing his options. He could lie. There were endless possibilities in New York to distract a 13 year old boy who wasn't in school on a Monday. Or...he could be honest with the freaking Earth-saving Avenger who was being so kind as to care about him, and worry about him, and, well, be his family.

 

So he dropped May's nametag on the counter. Her smiling face shone up at him.

 

“You broke into the lab!”

 

“I did, I did break into the lab, but-”

 

“Peter, that's a crime!”

 

“Yes but _listen_!” And...the captain did. He shut his mouth and waited for Peter to continue. It was...oddly powerful. And intimidating. “The lab – it wasn't blown up like the rest of the floor. It was a mess, but it wasn't...I don't think the explosion affected the lab. They said it started there, but the lab was fine. They keep saying it was the lab, but...what if it wasn't? I mean, that explains why the building didn't collapse, if something that strong went off in the lab it would've taken out some serious support beams -”

 

“Now you're an architect, too?” Peter balked. That was definitely anger. He'd made Captain America mad. The man sighed. "Continue."

 

“I, uh, the uhm, the Facebook group. They were talking about how nothing made sense. And all the people who had family _inside_  the lab, their family wasn't found. Those people were declared dead but they weren't found. What if – what if they aren't dead?”

 

Peter felt himself shrinking as two firm hands came down on his shoulders. There was a hardness in the captain's jaw, but his eyes were soft and overflowing with concern. The hands were firm, as though they were trying to hold onto him and stop all of this bad stuff from happening.

 

“That's a big what if, son.”

 

“It wasn't like the rest of the office. I promise. I saw it. Their story isn't the truth.”

 

“I believe you. But...I also need you to, first, not commit crimes, and second, not put yourself in danger. I'll take this up, and use every resource I have to find out the truth, but you have to promise those two things first. Can you do that?”

 

After a pause, Peter let out a sigh. “Yes sir.”

 

“Good. Now, the second part.” Peter immediately regretted that sigh. “What happened _after_ lunch. With the robbers.”

 

“They, uh...I thought they were going to kill her, the lady that was there. Or her dog. I...I couldn't let them do that. And I didn't have my phone so I couldn't call the cops, but even if I did...I didn't know that weapon didn't kill people. I don't know if that weapon doesn't kill dogs. I couldn't just sit by and let -”

 

“I know. I...I was the same way. But the world has changed since then. You need to make sure you have your phone with you at all times, in case something like this happens. And...I'm going to see if we can get you some self-defense lessons.”

 

“...You're not mad?”

 

“How can I be? I must've had my nose broken at least a dozen times, doing the same exact thing. But little guys like us have to be smarter -”

 

“You're not little.”

 

“I used to be. Before the serum. Don't they have my picture in your history books?”

 

“Uhm...maybe? I'm...really not good at history. I know, we should learn from our past but I already know not to be a jerk to people.”

 

“That's a good start, but that's not the only lesson us old people have to teach you kids these days.” Peter squinted a little, taking in the slight smirk and the twinkle he swore he could see in the Captain's eye.

 

“Are you making a joke?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ah. It's...it's good. I just...wasn't sure. I didn't want to laugh if it wasn't.” It was strange. Steve was technically so old but he was also so young, and every now and then he wasn't fully caught up with the times, but when he was he had no problems joking about the past with the best of them. Peter was sure he'd figure out Captain America's sense of humor eventually. The most interesting thing about it all was that Captain America had a sense of humor to begin with.

 

“Now, I am going to have someone keeping an eye on you until you go back to school. You can think of it a bit as being grounded, for trespassing on private property on the first day I left you alone.  You're not going out without supervision while I'm at work until I know I can trust you. Understood?”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

"Peter, I  _want_ to trust you. I hope you know that."

 

"I do. I promise, I'll do better."

 

Later that evening, after Peter had vanished to his room to do the day's schoolwork, Steve gave into the nagging feeling in his gut and called the only certified expert he knew on this particular subject.

 

“What if I'm a bad influence?” he asked Clint. The man at the other end of the phone burst out laughing. “You know what I mean! What if he tries to be a hero? He's not...” The words cut themselves off. He was about to say 'not physically fit.' He was about to bring up the asthma, and the heart condition. But since when had that ever gotten in the way before? “He's exactly like me, in pretty much every way. Except he isn't a super-soldier. And I don't want that for him, either.”

 

“Better watch out, or he'll be the next Captain America.” When Clint was finally able to reel in his laughter, he sobered up to be the father-adviser his friend actually needed. “If he really reminds you that much of yourself, then you're probably the exact influence he needs. Who else better understands what it was like to be you?”

 

“I know. And...I'm trying...but he's never going to actually be me. And I never had to find out what it would be like to live out my life with all those health conditions.”

 

“Asthma isn't the end of the world. Plus, Tony said he's an absolute genius. Even if he's never physically going to be a superhero, he can do the world a lot of good by putting his brain to work.”

 

“...That's a good idea...Do you think Tony would be willing to make some lesson plans for him? Jarvis said he was in the lab re-building the remote before he left. Seems like Tony's sort of genius might be just up his ally.”

 

“Oh he'll do it, but only if you tell him you don't think he can. He hates it when someone says he can't do something. It'll nag him  until he does it, just watch."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to MeiMei and bluu for reminding me that Peter usually starts out with glasses (or at least bad eyesight). We so rarely spend time with pre-bite Peter and I was so focused on making him a mini-Steve (as far as ailments go) that I actually completely forgot that one. So, for purposes of this story, he didn't have glasses that he wore regularly. Maybe he had a pair to use in the classes where he sat near the back (that's actually how I started - just for math and science class, because I kept getting put in the back of the room, thanks to being seated alphabetically in those classes, then by senior year I had to wear them full time) and because he hasn't been in school and he's been distracted by literally everything else that's happened, he hadn't thought about it until this chapter.


	12. Chapter 11

Dr. Banner came over the next day. He wasn't the person Steve was having keep an eye on Peter – no, that honor went to a SHIELD agent who also doubled as a medic and babysitter in one, and who'd woken Peter up at 6AM sharp so he could check on his nose - but Dr. Banner was visiting all the same.

 

Steve had called him up to ask him to provide more chemistry lessons. And while, apparently, Dr. Banner seemed to actually like spending time with a very eager thirteen-year-old, Peter realized pretty quickly that they were trying to find things to keep him busy so he didn't even think of wandering off again.

 

This distraction was, at least, one that he didn't mind. Physics and biochemistry were two topics that he needed to master, and fairly quickly. He had barely understood even a tiny fraction of what he'd found in the hard drive. And to learn from Dr.-Freaking-Banner? The guy was so chill. He couldn't have asked for a better teacher.

 

“Does it hurt?” the doctor – Banner, not the SHIELD agent who was far less interested in hanging out than he was interested in keeping watch like one of those fuzzy-hat palace guards in London – asked as the two ate breakfast together.

 

“Only when I touch it. It looked a lot worse yesterday.” The bruises under his eyes were already fading. There was just a hint of yellowish-brown left, and the swelling was already completely gone. The SHIELD agent had mumbled some fairly rude things about the EMS guy who'd helped him not knowing what they were doing, though he did think it would still take a week or two to heal. Not that Peter was planning on using his nose for anything but smelling and breathing anytime soon, and he definitely didn't want to use it as a shield again.

 

“You know, you should always keep your hands up when you jump into a fight. To protect your face.”

 

“I know that _now_.”

 

Peter's phone buzzed as Ned asked him a million more questions. And pretty much every other classmate who had his number texted him. Somehow, word had gotten around school about the whole mess. The failed heroing attempt, not the breaking-and-entering. The lady had taken a selfie, Peter was in the selfie, and apparently, she had a couple hundred thousand YouTube followers, some of whom were his classmates...What mattered was that now, on top of everyone knowing his aunt and uncle died and that he'd been in the Oscorp explosion, they also knew he'd been punched in the face by a jewelry store thief, and they'd even seen his black eyes. At least the lady had thanked him for standing up for her and her dog before parading him around for all the internet to see. That was nice of her. And he learned that he needed to be careful since anyone at any time could end up plastering his face in places he didn't want his face plastered. 

 

“Aren't your friends supposed to be in class?”

 

“It's...second period? We'd have band. So Ned's probably texting while Ms. Ludwig is chewing someone out again.” _Bzzz. Bzzz._ Peter turned the phone off before he lost his mind. “I didn't think that many people cared. I mean, they texted after the, uh...the Oscorp incident, but it was all just the same 'sorry for your loss' stuff that you know they only said because they felt obligated to. But kids get in fights all the time and, usually, no one cares.”

 

“Probably because kids that get in fights all the time usually aren't the most pleasant of people. You're a good kid, Peter. Even if people don't understand you, they know you're good.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Sirs,” Jarvis said. “You have a call.”

 

“We?” Bruce asked. “As in both of us?”

 

“Mr. Stark would like a word.”

 

“Oh. Uh. How...how do we answer?”

 

“I'll connect him through the speakers.”

 

“Hey Bruce,” Mr. Stark's voice came through. “Steve told me you were babysitting today.”

 

“It's not babysitting,” Dr. Banner defended. “He's a brilliant kid who's leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates, so we're going to study physics today.”

 

“...yeah, ok. Look, I called to let you know that they're polishing up your new lab today. That seems a more appropriate place to be studying than a tiny apartment -”

 

“Tiny?” Peter couldn't help but whisper under his breath.

 

“Ah, kid's with you?”

 

“Uhm, yes. Yes sir.”

 

“Good. Because we need to talk about you touching my stuff. Jarvis told me you were, what was it, fixing the TV remote yesterday?”

 

“Yeah. I broke it, so...I fixed it.”

 

“And it works?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. Now – there's a new rule for you: Don't touch my stuff. Unless Jarvis says it's ok, and I've adjusted Jarvis's programming to be more prepared for you. Basically, he's going to tell you no. And you're going to listen. Understood?”

 

“Y-yes...Yes sir.”

 

“Good. The last thing I need on my conscious is being responsible for a kid blowing himself up because he tried to build things without proper supervision.”

 

“I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

 

“Save it. I've also had Jarvis design lesson plans for you so you _can_ learn with proper supervision -”

 

“Steve asked you to do that, didn't he?” Dr. Banner asked.

 

“...Jarvis will supervise and guide you through your lessons. Whenever you want to work on them, just let him know. You will only touch what he tells you to touch, and if he detects anything might start sparking or smoking, the fire will be put out. It will be unpleasant, you will be angry. But you will be alive and Steve won't kill me for letting you near all those dangerous tools. Am I clear?”

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Stark sir.”

 

“Good. You two play nice, don't break anything, I don't want any more phone calls about you causing trouble.”

 

“I've got this, Tony,” Dr. Banner said, almost sounding annoyed at the scolding.

 

“I know you do. Though I'm a whole continent away if you need me.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

The line went silent, but neither Peter nor Bruce spoke for several moments. “Did he hang up?” Peter eventually whispered.

 

“Yes,” Jarvis replied.

 

“You have really good hearing.”

 

“My sensors are programmed to pick up even the sound of mice feet. And immediately alert an exterminator, should that ever be an issue.”

 

“Good to know.”

 

“So, from the sounds of it, we should head over to the tower.”

 

“That's what it...Wait.” Peter dropped his spoon, almost spilling his bowl of cereal. “The _Avenger_ tower?”

 

“Yeah. There's where the main labs are.” Bruce tried to play it cool, but he could see the fire in the kid's eyes. He didn't _need_ to be idolized. He'd come to terms with knowing he'd probably always be, at best, a side-note in a textbook and, at worst, a terrifying headline. But the way this kid looked at him reminded him whey he'd gotten into teaching, so long ago now. Most students didn't care – they were there for a requirement, be it to fill out their credits or in a desperate attempt to please some societal pressure – but every now and then he'd meet a kid who really cared about the topics he was teaching. And he wanted to soak all of that feeling up. “I can't give you much of a tour, since it's still only half finished, but we can check out a few things.”

 

“So you really are an Avenger, aren't you?”

 

“...Yeah, but, it's really not that big a deal.”

 

“That's so cool.”

 

The kid was practically glowing, he looked so excited. It was contagious - Bruce soon found himself smiling, too.

 

The hard part was convincing the SHIELD agent to relocate. He even checked in with Steve before he would approve it. But Bruce knew better than to let even the tiniest grain of frustration get under his skin. He did feel for the kid, though. From what he knew of the situation, it really seemed that Peter hadn't had to ask permission too much to just go out before, so suddenly switching to being closely monitored by the two toughest security forces the world had (SHIELD and the Avengers)...that would've made Bruce very angry, too, to put it mildly. He knew, because he'd been there. But this kid was taking it in stride. After all, he was getting the chance to study chemistry and physics with an Avenger. At least there was an upside to all this madness.

 

“We should probably set up a profile for you, if you're going to be over here a lot,” Bruce said as he showed the kid around the spaces they could access. The kid hadn't said a word for ten minutes. He'd gaped quite a bit, and looked like he might speak, but then something else caught his attention and he lost himself in the next most amazing thing.

 

This time, he was pressed up against the glass of the top floor, peering out at the city. Jarvis had locked the bar down tight, so there was no risk there, if there ever even had been. The bar had been locked for months since Pepper was trying to help Tony with his alcoholism. He was currently going through phases where it was practically the only thing he ingested and having none at all, depending on where his mind was at that week.

 

“A profile?”

 

“Yeah. Jarvis already knows who you are so you aren't likely to set off security, but I'm sure everything except maybe the first floor bathroom is probably locked out for you right now. And that's if Tony was feeling generous. Come on, lets head down to the lab.”

 

If Peter thought the 'party floor,' as Dr. Banner described it, was awe-inspiring, the 'lab' was basically the equivalent of getting to fly the Millennium Falcon. It glistened. It shone. It looked like it had popped right out of the imaginations of the greatest space opera sci-fi imaginations. Peter reached out and watched as his fingers passed through the screen. He made sure not to touch something that was open. It was just a projection of a desktop, he was pretty sure. His fingers went through it. And opened a file which then filled the room with...whatever it was that was in the file. “This is just your lab?”

 

“Yeah. Tony has a separate workshop. Well, two, actually. Downstairs he has one that's more roll-up-your-sleeves and get dirty, for building new suits and other big inventions, I think, and another that's more for working on computing and smaller projects.”

 

“Does Steve have a gym?”

 

“...uhm. Yes? That's not finished yet. But he will.”

 

“And...do you live here?” That question came out more cautiously. But Peter had to know.

 

“Yes. There's both temporary and long term living quarters here. I think you have a room, too.”

 

“Me!”

 

“Just in case. For safety. Tony re-figured the design to make sure there was space in case we picked up new members or, you know, suddenly had family, who might need a space to stay. And you just happened to be the first new person, so you got the first room. But your apartment is probably the safer option. If someone targets the Avengers, they're most likely going to go for the super tall building with the giant A slapped on the side.”

 

“...Yeah. But...Can I...see _my_ room?”

 

“When it's finished. A lot of the floors aren't finished yet. Tony prioritized the floors I'd need, because I live here full-time, and the rest are getting worked on now. Come on, over here. I'm going to get a profile set up for you to access my database, so you can keep studying whenever you want to.”

 

In Bruce's experience, most teens, when offered the chance to 'study when they wanted to,' would opt to not. He couldn't blame them – they spent all day in school, it was normal to want to relax and have fun and do something different afterwards. He had even played a few video games, back in his day. Though video games were very, very different when he was Peter's age, and much easier to put down. But Peter jumped at the thought of studying more.

 

Of course, he never paused to consider how cool it would be to have an Avenger for a teacher.

 

He hadn't truly had fun in years, but if anything qualified, this had to be it. He'd spent so long learning to let little things go, to not be annoyed by weird smells or repetitive noises (too much), to recognize that most people phrased things poorly and didn't mean most of what they said to be a bad thing – and even if they did mean to insult, it rarely mattered anyway.

 

But Peter soaked up every moment, asking questions and taking notes on the answers. The best parts were the experiments. Just a few fun chemical reactions here, a Pharaoh's snake there, and even a test, to see if Peter was able to repeat what he was learning.

 

“I'm going to really need to think about what we should do next time,” Bruce admitted. “You're a natural at this sort of thing.”

 

“It's just so cool!” His eyes were focused on his own Pharoah's snake as it grew up and up and up from seemingly nothing. “Have you, uh, checked out any of the...the space stuff? Is it really made from all the same stuff you can find on Earth?”

 

“So far, yes.”

 

“Even the Hulk?”

 

Bruce wasn't prepared for that one. “The...space...Hulk?” tumbled from his mouth as laughter dared to bubble up. Oh, it had been _so_ long since he'd had a good laugh. And the kid wasn't even trying!

 

“I-is he...not from space? I'm sorry, was that rude...or dumb? E-e-everyone online just assumed, I guess, since he's only been seen about as many times as Thor and there's nothing like him on Earth anywhere and where did he go after the fight anyway? So, people have been saying, you know, what if, maybe they're just space buddies who happen to like Earth and came to help-”

 

“I – ohh, I can't tell you, kid.” He managed to get his laughter under control with a few deep breaths, just as focused as his morning and evening breathing exercises. “I can't actually answer that question. Sorry.”

 

“Oh, no, no I understand, I didn't mean to – uhm...what space stuff _have_ you studied?”

 

“Mostly Chitauri and-”

 

“Chi-what?”

 

“Oh, right, the news doesn't – the Chitauri are the race of aliens that came through the portal. That's the name of their species, just like we're Humans.”

 

“The giant flying centipede things are Chitauri?”

 

“No, the guys who rode in on them are.”

 

“...There were guys riding the centipedes?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Woah.”

 

“ _Yeah_...that doesn't...scare you, does it?”

 

“Uh, a little, I guess? But we're here now, and we're safe, thanks to you guys. So...you know. It doesn't do us a lot of good to worry 'when will they come back, will there be more of them.' We just have to...keep living. But when I grow up, I'm definitely going to join SHIELD or...hopefully, the, uhm, the Avengers? As a scientist?”

 

“And you just might get there, too.”

 

“But I don't want to be let in just because I'm Captain America's cousin -”

 

“Oh, don't worry about that. If you aren't qualified, you won't get in. To SHIELD or the Avengers. Though, to be honest, I hope the Avengers won't be needed again. They probably will be. But I hope they won't be.”

 

“...Right.” Yeah, being an internationally-recognized hero sounded cool, but that would also mean there was a reason for an internationally-recognized hero to exist. Peter really hadn't thought about that. Mr. Stark had already done a great job of grinding wars to a halt worldwide. People who wanted to do bad things on a large scale had to be far more clever now than in the past. And the aliens were defeated and cleaned up and aside from all the videos and pictures and the new cemetery and memorial honoring those lost that day...it was almost like they'd never shown up in the first place.

 

But he was still going to figure out the extent of his powers, and where they came from...and if they were going to turn him into a pile of goo.

 

He tried really hard not to eavesdrop when Steve came to pick him up. Bruce gave Steve a 'quick tour of the lab,' saying it was his first time seeing it, too, and left Peter to clean up, but Peter knew the tour was also an excuse to talk about Peter. Which was why he tried his hardest not to listen. But he could hear them. And he couldn't just decide to not hear them whispering about his future, his potential, and Steve's fears.

 

He needed to invest in some really good headphones next time he had money. Which...Steve didn't give him an allowance. Peter wasn't sure if allowances were even a thing back in the 1920s, and he was almost definitely certain they probably weren't a thing in the 1930s. That meant he might need to get his own money. Or at least come up with an alternative option for bigger purchases than food with friends.

 

Peter also decided that, no matter how hard it was, he was going to go back to school next Monday. The last thing he needed on his conscious was Captain America's worry. What if something bad did happen, and Steve was distracted worrying about him? No, Peter had some responsibilities of his own that he needed to consider. One of those responsibilities was now being mindful of just who his cousin was, and how invaluable he was to the world.

 

“Are you sure you're ready for that?” the Captain asked when he brought it the school thing while they were making dinner. Mac and cheese – from scratch. Mostly. They were cheating and using pre-made pasta, but both of them agreed that was for the best. There was from scratch goodness and then there was 'this is a really bad idea and we are both hungry' from scratch badness. Surprisingly, their family recipes weren't too different from each other. Steve's family recipe called for canned tuna, for some reason, but he wasn't opposed to letting that go (though, in true parental fashion, he did encourage Peter to try it someday, and Peter promised he would, just not today).

 

“No? But...I know I'm ready to be out of this apartment. And I know the principal is there for me, and I have Ned.”

 

“What about your teachers?”

 

“...They...try.” Steve nodded in understanding.

 

“They're sympathetic, but they don't actually understand, so they mess up and talk too much, or stare, and you end up taking care of them instead?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I can try to talk to them.”

 

“No! You don't have to, I know you're busy -”

 

“Not too busy. I think I might be able to explain it to them in a way that will help. I've had some success in the past.” Granted, those cases dealt with war, and helping people come to terms with friends and family who were now short one or more limbs, but the reactions were generally the same. Something horrible happened, and human instinct was to be, understandably, horrified. But they needed to express their feelings in a way that didn't pour salt into Peter's recovery. Of course, he could also see Peter's discomfort at the thought. “Unless its too embarrassing.”

 

“No! No, I just...what if people see you? I don't want...I mean, it's super cool that we're cousins, but everyone was already staring at me all the time, and after yesterday they're going to be staring at me more, and if they find out about you, _especially_ Mr. Zagorac...I don't think I can handle it.”

 

“How about this – I'll have a meeting with your principal, and we can set up one of those plans, that was in the letter, and she can address the rest of the teachers. And if any students actually recognize me when I'm visiting, I'll just say I'm...I guess you guys don't need a graduation speaker...”

 

“You could just visit. Schools just have famous people just visit sometimes, to try to inspire us, I guess. We don't get really cool people most of the time, but we did have an Olympic gold medalist when I was in third grade.”

 

“I'll do that then. And I won't tell anyone that we're related. I promise. Not until you're ready.”

 

It would be legendary if Peter were the reason Captain freaking America gave a speech at his middle school. He'd never get peace and quiet. Literally. The last thing he needed was to be tracked by everyone in the world who wanted a chance to meet Captain America. He needed time to get to know his powers and figure out what he wanted to do about having them, and he would never have any peace if the world found out about them.

 

After dinner, Peter finally called Ned. He'd texted that he was fine earlier, of course, but after that he'd been kind of busy all day. “Dude, not cool. Everyone's been trying to figure out what happened to you all day. Do you know the kinds of things people come up with when no one has any information to go on? They said you were in a coma!”

 

“And you believed them?” Peter asked as he scrolled through the information from the hard drive again on his computer. He'd had Jarvis pull up Dr. Banner's database so he could use it to try to figure out the things he found in there. He'd quickly found that his access was very limited, but it did help him at least a little, especially since Jarvis was providing an extra screen for him so he didn't have to switch between programs to compare the things he was reading. Still, he wasn't finding any information on the people-melting acid that had exploded in Oscorp.

 

“No. Because you'd texted. And people in comas don't text. Are you ok?”

 

“Yeah. Just a broken nose. It's not that bad. The bruising is already gone. It looked pretty sick yesterday, though.”

 

“Did you really beat up a guy the size of the Hulk?”

 

“No! I just got between a muscle guy and some lady out jogging with her dog. It's really not that cool.”

 

“If you say so. You're kind of a hero though. Anyway, you up for a round of-”

 

“No, sorry. I don't have time. I didn't do any homework all day, and if I don't keep up with my school work they're definitely going to hold me back a year, and I can't let that happen.” He didn't want to lie to Ned, but he also needed time to research, and he wasn't ready to talk about this with anyone. Not even his best friend.

 

“Yeah, that would suck. Well, I guess we'll see you tomorrow for D&D?”

 

“Yep...maybe. I need to ask permission. I think I'm grounded?”

 

"Let me know ASAP."

 

"Will do."

 

Peter checked file after file after file after file after document after spreadsheet after pdf after everything else under the sun. It was never ending. Some of the things couldn't be opened because he didn't have a compatible program, and he was starting to think his answers were probably hidden somewhere in there, given how many things he'd already sifted through. That, or maybe it wasn't here at all. Maybe someone else was in charge of it. Or maybe it didn't originate with Oscorp in the first place.

 

“Hey, don't stay up too late!” Steve had advised around 10PM.

 

“I won't, I promise.”

 

By 3AM, he was having a hard time keeping his head up, but he'd turned off the lights and dimmed his screen so as to try to appear to be sleeping. He was pretty sure he wasn't actually fooling anyone, least of all Captain America, but, hopefully, Steve wasn't too mad. He hadn't come to make him go to bed, at least.

 

It was almost 4 when he reached the S's. “Spider?” he sighed. That was such an uncreative name. “Oh look, it was a spider study. Shoooocker...woah. That's...weird.”

 

It looked like they were trying to use spider venoms to create the ultimate...bandaid, of sorts. “Healing properties of...” He glanced to the mirror at his side, bringing a finger slowly to his nose. When he touched it, it didn't hurt. When he pushed...well, it hurt a little. But like a bad bruise, nothing more. “Oh my god.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to give everyone a small heads up: I've been thinking about changing the story summary for a few weeks now. I haven't settled on anything I liked, but I wanted to warn you guys before I actually did change it, so you don't go looking for the prologue snippit and don't see it anymore. I made the summary a snip from the prologue to begin with because I didn't want to spoil anything from the early chapters before they were posted, but now they are posted so there's no reason not to have a proper summary. I just need to make one first.


	13. Chapter 12

Dr. Amadei's files on The Spider Project were last updated the day before the accident, but they definitely pointed to the possibility of what Peter might be able to do. The project had been ongoing for the better part of a decade with very poor results. The best they'd accomplished was causing mice to recover more quickly after they got in fights with other mice. Those mice had also died shortly after the tests...but recently, they'd had a breakthrough. The mice weren't dying anymore.

 

No, the most recent tests had resulted in jumping mice. Like the jumping spiders the scientists had used.

 

That didn't explain the sticking or the super strength or the balancing or the super hearing and super _feeling,_ but it was something to go on. And it was a relief to know that he wasn't a ticking goo bomb. But now he had other things to worry about. The latest mice hadn't died _so far_ , at the time of the update. And now no one would know if they'd live a normal life or not.

 

And of course no one knew what any of that meant for humans. Well, except Peter. He knew some of what it did to humans. Not that he was complaining about the perks, but the possible downsides were terrifying.

 

“Dude, you sure you're ok?” Ned asked as they grabbed some pizza for dinner. He'd been granted a reprieve to go to their bi-monthly D&D game, but his phone had to be turned on and on his person at all times. He also had to be home by 8, and it was clear that Steve wasn't the only person tracking him. If something fishy happened, a designated Agent Babysitter could be at his side very, very quickly. Such was the life of a potential weak link...who had also already betrayed Captain America's trust twice in under two weeks. At least, that was what he was pretty sure SHIELD saw him as. Especially when he was dumb enough to get punched in the face.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

 

“You're acting _weird_ today.”

 

“No I'm not!”

 

“Yeah, you are. I thought you hated spiders, but everything we did tonight had to have spiders – what, did one bite you or something?”

 

“...yeah. I'm sorry, I didn't realize.” He definitely needed to be more careful.

 

“You know, I really don't think you're actually ok.”

 

“No, I am. I'm just...I have a lot of things to think about. My cousin is meeting with the school tomorrow and he thinks it's going to make things better but I don't know. Nothing good ever comes from parent-teacher conferences.” Technically this was a parent-administration conference, but it was just as dangerous.

 

“Said like a true delinquent.”

 

“I'm not a delinquent! I'm just really bad at paying attention...and sitting still.” And none of his teachers had ever let a conference go by without mentioning it at least once. At least that was one thing he was pretty sure wouldn't get mentioned _this_ time.

 

“Classic troublemaker. Meanwhile Tyler gets to peg people in the head with dodgeballs and never gets sent to the principal's office. We need to get on a sport team. Does Midtown have golf?...No, golf is really boring, and, like, who can actually name any famous golfers anyway? Besides Tiger. He can't count at this point.”

 

“Did Tyler target you again?”

 

“Yeah, but, what's new? He's a textbook bully. I've been thinking about making a new character just for him. And Cordove and Xavben can pelt him with...fireballs.”

 

“Cordove doesn't know any fire spells.”

 

“Well, they can't just pelt him with dodge-balls!”

 

“Yeah, that's true. I don't think dodge-ball spells would do well in our current game. But its my turn to be dungeon-master next, and I think I might just have a few high-school setting ideas that just might work instead.”

 

“You. Are. The. Best...speaking of you being absolutely amazing, when are we going to finish putting Yoda together anyway?”

 

“...Uhm. I...soon?”

 

“Look, buddy, I am not going to judge you if your new place is awful. You know I'm not like that.”

 

“I know! It's not that...it's not that its awful, its pretty nice, actually. I'm just...still getting used to it. It's really weird. Like, some days, things feel almost like they could be normal-” Ish. “-and I feel like that could be my home. I'm ok there. But most days its nothing like home, and I don't think I'll ever shake that staying-in-a-hotel feeling.”

 

“I'm sorry, man. Would it help if you came over and hung out at my place instead? I promise not to let Mom fuss over you.”

 

“That sounds like a good idea. I can figure out a way to move Yoda.” After all, Mr. Stark's moving crew had figured out a way to do it, so it was clearly possible. He was pretty sure he'd just need an adequately sized box and a day with no rain.

 

Peter jumped when his 'you need to leave to make it home on time' alarm went off, and Ned let out a groan, waving him along. “Don't get grounded worse.”

 

“I will do my best.”

 

Since he wasn't planning on taking any more unplanned trips to Oscorp, he was pretty sure he could manage to stay out of trouble. All he had to do was not give Steve more reasons to distrust him. Of course, that was going to make researching his new abilities a bit more difficult, especially with Agent Babysitter's watchful eye never more than a few steps away, but he'd figure something out.

 

He pulled his sleeves down over his hands as he walked. The temperatures were still in the upper 50s to lower 60s, but everything felt like it was about ten degrees colder than that.

 

It was probably just the wind, but with one good shiver he took a quick turn into the nearest tourist trap shop, grabbing the first hoodie he found on the clearance rack. It was a bright and kind of unflattering shade of red, and the words were peeling off of it, which explained why it hadn't sold. Most stores would realize they couldn't sell something like that, but this guy was apparently a very determined entrepreneur. Wait long enough (and cut prices low enough) and _someone_ will buy your trash. Even if that someone was just a desperate kid with barely any pocket money.

 

Peter contemplated discussing a weekly allowance while he was waiting in line. He was down to the last of the money he'd saved from the allowances he'd been given before the accident. Were allowances even a thing when Steve was a kid? He remembered a time in third grade when they'd been required to find 'an elder' and write a report on what life was like when that elder was a kid. Since he didn't have any 'elders' in his family at the time, he'd talked Ms. Hamada. But even she had stories of getting some money to get an ice cream cone, or to go see a movie.

 

It was a weird conversation to have, though.

 

As he waited in line and mused over how to broach the 'I'm broke and too young to get a job, so can I please have some money' talk with Captain America, he found himself watching a man that was across the street. The guy was wandering around, peeking at the various bikes tied up on the street, testing them as he went. Luckily, all the bikes were chained.

 

“You sure you want the one?” the cashier said when Peter stepped up in line.

 

“I just need something warm to get home,” he replied.

 

“Ahhh. That'll be $7.42.”

 

“Uhm-” His eyes darted back to the guy across the street. Bolt cutters appeared from the man's backpack as he went for a rather retro looking bike. Which maybe it wasn't retro but was actually decades old, which would make it the most expensive bike chained up out there. “Can I...also get, uhm, this?” He grabbed a ski mask from the display. It wasn't quite that cold yet, but he was grateful that the shop was prepared for the inevitable dip in temperatures.

 

“Ok. You total's $12.84, then.”

 

He was definitely going to need to talk to Steve about allowances, but at least he had what he needed. “Thanks!” he said, hurrying to yank both on as he darted out the door and across the street. Obvious Bike Thief didn't even seem to notice him.

 

Peter took advantage of the window of opportunity to grab hold of the bike just as the guy got the chain off. “This isn't yours, is it?” he asked.

 

“What-Let. Go!” Peter's spider-balance, for lack of a better name for it, really came in handy as Mr. Thief tried to twist the bike away from Peter's grip. Where he would have just tripped over his own feet and fallen face-first into the concrete before, he easily held onto the bike _and_ stayed upright now. “Let go of the bike, Kid.”

 

“I really wish people would stop calling me Kid.”

 

Peter easily kept hold of the bike, despite the thief – who he was pretty sure was at the very least almost an adult if not already in his 20s – putting all he had into pulling it back. The guy was pretty skinny, sure, but...so was Peter. If not for his Spider-y-ness, he would easily be eating concrete for desert. “Geezus, how strong are you?”

 

“I have no idea. I broke a guy's ribs on Monday on accident. Three weeks ago I could barely bench press 40 pounds in gym class and now suddenly I'm breaking ribs and running fast and -”

 

“Dude. I don't care.”

 

“But you did ask.”

 

“...most people don't...I mean...stop being weird! Let go of the bike!”

 

“I can't do that. Its not yours.”

 

“Finders keepers-”

 

“Bolt cutters stealers.” That was super lame. But it did rhyme, which was the point of the, well, rhyme.

 

“Gaah.” The thief let go, throwing his hands in the air. “This is too much work. Fine!”

 

“...You're just going to steal another bike later, aren't you?”

 

“And what if I do? You gonna stalk me the rest of my life to make sure I don't?”

 

Peter wasn't sure what to say. Of course he wasn't going to follow this guy around. He couldn't be everywhere and do everything. Plus, he had research he needed to do. And school to prepare himself for. And this guy was just a bike thief. It was still a crime, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a big deal.

 

So the thief wandered off down the street and Peter...well, he didn't have many options. He couldn't just leave the bike sitting around, but he did see the broken link. Without too much thought, he grabbed that link up, wrapped the chain through the bike again, and tightened the link back into place.

 

He glanced up at the end of the road, noticing the thief hanging around, watching him. “Waiting for me to leave,” he grumbled. Luckily, staring the guy down seemed to send the right message as he stepped off into the street.

 

Immediately, Peter felt all the hairs on his body stand on end. “WAIT!” he yelled out, running for the street. Sure enough, there was a car, and the driver's eyes were turned down, looking at their phone. “Look out!” Peter intended to push the guy out of the way, but he wasn't quite fast enough. Instead, he found his hands wrapped around the car's bumper, the hood crinkling up as the car came to a halt against his body.

 

“SHIT! Kid, what the hell are you?” the thief gasped as he ran for the other sidewalk.

 

“I...have no idea.”

 

The driver was frozen in place, his jaw agape and his eyes wide.

 

“Woah, you ok kid?” a pedestrian called out. Judging by her scrubs, it was clear she'd been more than prepared for a far, far worse outcome.

 

“Yeah. I'm...wow. I just caught a car.”

 

“Yeah, you did. You're not hurt?”

 

“No, I'm fine. Wow.” Peter gently sat the car back down on the ground. “I picked up a car.” The thief bolted in that moment. Peter couldn't blame him. Who wanted to tangle with a _kid_ who could pick up a car? “Uh. I. Uh. Don't text and drive!”

 

Peter ran straight home after that, only pausing a block away to take his mask off and shove it in a pocket. Steve noticed the hoodie, but Peter just explained the truth of that – he'd been cold. The kid was glad he hadn't noticed the dirt that was already on the sleeves. Not only was that driver a text-and-drive driver, but their car was filthy.

 

That evening, after a hot shower and a full body check to make sure there weren't any surprise injuries (there weren't) and some left over mac and cheese, the two cousins settled in for an Indiana Jones marathon.

 

One of the things Peter had noticed about his cousin was that Steve seemed to have no problems giving things his undivided attention. While Peter curled up in his corner of the couch with his laptop in hand, trying to continue his research into all things spiders, the Captain leaned forward, eyes completely focused. Or so it seemed.

 

“You aren't watching?”

 

“I am. I just also have, uh, research. For a paper.”

 

“Ah. You know, I don't think I've seen anyone do just one thing at a time the entire time I've been awake.”

 

“Yeah? We've got a lot of things going on now.”

 

“So I've seen.” Indy's whip cracked across the screen.

 

At least he let it go and left Peter to do his research. Which wasn't a lie. Peter was researching. Just not for a paper. He was researching spiders – the types, the different abilities, how they worked, and, most interestingly, their silk. He'd never thought about spider webs beyond how annoying they were, but apparently they were actually amazing. In high enough quantities, they could be better ropes than any materials humans currently had. They could revolutionize bullet-proofing. They could even revolutionize the entire healthcare industry by changing how everything from bandages to artificial ligaments were made.

 

Of course, something so amazing couldn't be duplicated or farmed, apparently.

 

Indy's whip cracked again, and Peter realized that he had to at least try. He was a spider boy now. Why not do everything and anything a spider did?

 

Sure, he'd be a little more active than the average spider, going after the bad guys instead of just making a web and waiting, but it would fit perfectly in with his other powers. All he had to do was crack the secret webbing. He immediately dug into Dr. Banner's database, which came complete with a simulator to see what would happen if some chemicals were combined, heated, cooled, and everything else that could be accounted for.

 

“When I was a kid, I never could have imagined movies would, well...do _this,_ ” was Steve's review as the credits for the second movie rolled.

 

“Did your movies even have sound?”

 

“Yes...eventually. I was, oh, ten or twelve when dialogue took off? And the Wizard of Oz was the most amazing thing anyone had ever seen when it came out.”

 

“It's still a pretty good movie.”

 

“Of all the movies I thought would last, that was not the one I would have picked, and yet it seems to be the only one anybody remembers.”

 

“My mom had a few Shirley Temple movies that she loved. Those were...cute, I guess. I preferred Cat's Don't Dance – that's, uhm, an animated movie that has a villain that parodies her. Uhm, my history teacher keeps telling us we're going to watch Mr. Smith Goes to Washington later this year, because apparently it's a must-see. Oh! And Ben loved It's A Wonderful Life. He made us watch it every Christmas.”

 

“I...am not familiar with that one.”

 

Peter paused, quickly checking Google. “Ohh, it came out in 1947. We'll watch it this Christmas.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Then came the pause. Peter was becoming familiar with that pause. It happened every time Steve wanted to be less of a buddy and more of a parent. He took in a deep breath, waiting. “You were up pretty late last night.” There it was.

 

“...yeah. I, uh...I'm sorry, if I kept you up -”

 

“Don't worry about that. There's not much you could do to make it harder for me to sleep. This place is too quiet as it is.”

 

“You could get a fan, for white noise.”

 

“I'll think about it. But. This isn't about me.”

  
“Right.”

 

“I _think_ you're old enough to decide for yourself when to go to bed – I don't know what people usually do these days, but my mom trusted me at your age...there just weren't anywhere near as many distractions back then so usually people just...went to bed at a decent hour. So...I...want to put in place one rule: Once you're back in school, you can set your own hours, but if your grades slip, you will have a bedtime. Is that fair?”

 

“Yeah.” Really, it was ridiculously overly fair. Peter's grades would never skip. School was too easy for that.

 

“And as for when you need to be home...how does...nine? Sound?”

 

“Ten?”

 

The Captain paused, thinking over what Peter's normal schedule would be and weighing it against the potential dangers of the city, which had ebbed a bit from its peak, though the kinds of dangers that still lurked were worse than they used to be. “Nine when you have a test the next day, ten the rest of the time, unless you ask. But, you have to check in with me around nine so I know where you are.”

 

“...ok...can I...uhm, ask something?”

 

“Sure. But not about top secret stuff.”

 

“No! No, nothing like that...I just...How uhm...How do you...er...Deal with sleeping?”

 

It might have been a confusing question for anyone else, but Steve understood. “Time. And a firm mattress.” When Peter didn't reply, he deflated. “That probably doesn't help you.”

 

“No, not really.”

 

“You have to find the things that work for you – I got used to sleeping in less than ideal conditions, so a firm mattress helps make things feel familiar. Your fan idea will probably help me, too, because I'm not used to silence at night and that...has made things difficult.”

  
“Huh. I helped Captain America.” While they were talking, Peter took a deep breath and decided now was probably the best time to try to patch things a little after the whole fiasco on Monday. “I'm sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Upsetting you.” That got the Captain's full attention to turn away from the TV and onto Peter. It almost made his stomach drop in to his feet, the way those eyes seemed to peer intently into his very soul.

 

“You didn't upset me. You just...scared me.”

 

“Sorry. I just...I can't just...sit by, you know? When...when things are bad.”

 

“Did you always do that?”

 

“I...I didn't notice things. Before the, uhm...I wasn't paying attention. Or, I guess, I couldn't pay attention. I don't know how to explain it. I had to focus completely on what I was doing or I'd get so distracted I'd forget, and then I'd get turned around, end up somewhere I didn't mean to go, or my homework wouldn't get done, so I worked hard to make sure I didn't get distracted, so I didn't pay attention to what was going on around me. But after, uhm, after the accident-” or, he suspected, more specifically, the spider bite that had happened at the same time “-it's like everything is louder, and more demanding, and I can't ignore what's happening around me, because it won't let me. And now I'm seeing things I didn't see before. And now that I'm seeing them, I just...I can't let bad things happen. Not when I can help.”

 

He didn't know the turmoil his words dredged up deep inside Steve's heart, or the questions the Captain didn't ask for fear of what the answers might be. _Is this because of me?_ He did, however, let himself give in to the feeling of comfort that washed over him when Steve scooted over and rested a hand on his shoulder.

 

“During the war,” Steve said, “I tried to enlist 30 times, at least. I used different names, I went to different cities. I tried most everything I could think of, but they turned me down every time. But I couldn't just let bad things happen, not when I knew I could help. And...then I met just the right person. Someone who saw potential in me to do something that no one else might be able to do. Now, you're not going to have the same chances I had, but you're amazing in your own ways. You're really smart. Maybe, with the right teachers, you might be smarter than Tony and Bruce some day. Who knows?...I guess, what I'm trying to say is that you don't have to just let things happen. But maybe the right route for you isn't to let people punch you in the face. You have other options these days. Far more options than I had. And...you have me to help you, too.”

 

“I didn't mean to get punched in the face. But he was going to shoot her dog with that zappy thing, and they didn't know if it would kill the dog, and I just...got in over my head.”

 

“Just a little. I'm more concerned with the breaking into Oscorp. Which is highly illegal.”

 

“...yeah.”

 

“If you have a hunch that something funny is happening, just ask next time. SHIELD has quite an impressive network, and a lot of information. It really does make following up on hunches a lot less dangerous.”

 

“I'll keep that in mind. I'm not used to having connections.”

 

“Yeah, me either. But we do. And we can use them. Because who's going to tell Captain America no? Well, besides Tony. Well, even Tony. He usually doesn't tell me no, either.”

 

“The world is so lucky that they picked a good person like you to be the super soldier.”

 

“That...what the plan. To find someone who wouldn't abuse the abilities. I try really hard every day to live up to that expectation.”

 

“Were you ever scared...that you wouldn't be good enough, or that, you might...you know?”

 

“...Well, I didn't expect to walk away from crashing a plane in the arctic.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Everyone's scared of those things. What matters is how you deal with that fear. Don't be blind to it, but don't let it hold you back, either. Uhm, and don't jump into things without a plan to get out, either. Please call the police if you see something dangerous-”

 

“I will! I promise, I will.”

 

“Thank you...Oh, I also talked to Clint today, and he said he'd be willing to teach you self defense. He doesn't have a lot of time, usually, but when he's here you can have lessons with him at the tower. And he will be here Sunday and has time to teach you in the afternoon, so don't make plans for that time.”

 

“Wait, wait, I get to train with Hawkeye?”

 

“Hawkeye is going to teach you self defense, not how to fight. There's a difference.”

 

“But I get to learn from Hawkeye.”

 

“Yes.”

 

When, in years to come, Peter recounted the tale of how he was trained by THE Hawkeye, one of the founding Avengers, he was definitely going to leave out the undignified and most decidedly un-heroic squeal of joy at the news.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With all the Joker movie stuff lately, of course there's been a lot of people talking about every aspect of it that you can imagine, but one that caught my interest was a discussion on the time period its set in - I'm too young to have ever known New York as the cesspit of crime that it apparently used to be. Obviously, there's still crime (and a lot of it, considering the number of people living, working, and visiting NYC on any given day), but it's changed drastically from the era that gave rise to most of the superheroes we know and love today. 
> 
> For example, Times Square used to be lined with X-rated shops and was considered to be a seedy place to go. That had started during the Great Depression and WWII made it worse, since that's where soldiers on leave would go for, ah, entertainment, and it got worse and worse over time after that. But then we cut to now, where it's such a gorgeous and safely iconic place that The First Avenger used it to introduce Cap to modern New York. He would've known that area as a seedy area. The Times Square we know now is really quite an extremely recent thing, having only come about starting in the 80s! It's so fascinating. 
> 
> I am going to try to work in more little nods to how much has changed since Steve was a kid to now because I think its something that doesn't get enough real attention. Yeah, it can be fun to joke about Grandpa Steve (for example, I have him struggling with discerning spam emails, since that's not something most people would think to stop to explain to someone who looks as young as he looks, and he's so goodnatured I can see him opening all his emails - he's definitely learned a few of the cues now, but there's a LOT of tricks spammers pull, some even people who grew up entirely in the internet age still fall for), but so much really has changed that we, having grown up with these changes all around us, would never even notice.


	14. Chapter 13

 

Peter spent most of the rest of his week cooped up in the penthouse under the watchful eye of Agent Babysitter. He wasn't allowed to hole up in his room, but he made sure to protect his screen from prying eyes while studying. And he studied everything. The Spider Project, chemistry, the known chemical compounds of spider silk, physics, engineering. His mind jumped from subject to subject. There were so many different things he wanted to do and wanted to know. He even, admittedly, get lost on a fan forum for the Avengers for a few hours and not much was learned there.

 

But it was better than letting his mind settle on the one subject it had no difficulties focusing on. Even if the news was decidedly no longer discussing the accident, his mind was still very willing to churn it over and over and over again. Even absurd concepts, such as 'what if I had done something different' as though somehow he could've made a difference in the moment.

 

But what if he could have?

 

No, he didn't let his mind linger there. He threw himself into figuring out how to make the most of his new abilities because, if he didn't, he would lose himself to his anger. And no matter how many times people tried to insist that it was 'normal,' he didn't like it, so he didn't let himself linger on those feelings.

 

There were two interruptions to his studying. The first came on Thursday morning's news cycle. Someone had broken into the Oscorp lab! Which Peter already knew. But the news wasn't reporting on the robbery of the perfectly good equipment from the lab, or taking a renewed interest in how the equipment wasn't a puddle of metal and plastic on the floor. No, they were reporting that someone had broken in _upstairs_. They were reporting that someone had gone through Oscorp's things. (Though they were also reporting that nothing appeared to have been stolen, so at least there was that solace.)

 

Luckily for Peter, the security footage wasn't available for that entire day. Which he suspected was the doing of actual thieves.

 

Well...technically he was also a thief. But he wasn't planning on doing bad things with what he stole. Just figure out what had happened to him without becoming a human lab rat, which he never would've accomplished without borrowing the information. And he wasn't sharing it with anyone else.

 

Still, that night, he'd saved the important files onto his computer and smashed the stolen hard drive to bits. Which was thankfully easy to do since he could break it apart with his bare hands. He was still shaky the next day when he was hustled off to his other interruption: Therapy.

 

He wasn't sure if it was a standard for all doctor's offices, but Dr. Keller had pamphlets a plenty. She had more than _just_ pamphlets, of course, but she definitely had a pamphlet for pretty much every question he had. She had four just for his sleeping problems.

 

He almost wouldn't be surprised if she had a 'so, you're a spider boy now' pamphlet tucked away in that desk of hers.

 

“Do you want to talk about these nightmares?” she asked as he peered at one of the sleeping pamphlets.

 

“No...No I...really don't.” While he was able to distract himself throughout the day, his sleeping mind had just one obsession. Last night's had been worse than usual. The best night had been the one where he'd stayed up all night until he crashed. That sleep was practically dreamless, and the dream he did have was just May, Ben, and all the Avengers eating cheeseburgers. That was it. But the really bad one...the mysterious chemical had come back with a vengeance, melting down all the Avengers and leaving him as Earth's sole defender.

 

And he was bad at it.

 

And the world ended because he didn't measure up.

 

He couldn't really talk about that, either, though. Not without explaining why he felt he might someday need to measure up, and why he felt he stood a chance at measuring up. And he wasn't planning on doing that, ever.

 

“Ok. How about something nicer, then. Did you spend time with the Avengers this week?”

 

“Yeah! Some of them. Uhm, Mr. Stark is back in California so he didn't visit, but he did scold me for using his stuff...I uh, broke the remote, and I used his lab to fix it. But I really should've asked permission first, its not my stuff.”

 

“Why does he have a lab in your apartment? That doesn't sound safe.”

 

“It's not like that! It's just there if he needs it, for like fixing his suit or working on little inventions. I don't know if he's going to keep it like that after the tower is finished, but they're still working on _his_ lab there – I...don't know if I'm supposed to tell you that.”

 

“Anyone who knows who Tony Stark is knows he's definitely putting a lab in for himself up in that tower. So don't worry. If it's a secret, it is the worst secret in the history of secrets. It sounds like you're getting along quite well with your new family.”

 

“New...” Family? The Avengers? They were a superhero team. Not babysitters. Steve was his family. The Avengers were Steve's team, and his friends, and, well, every Avenger he'd met so far had just seemed to accept him, no questions asked. That was nice.

 

“I'm sorry, is that not a good word to use?”

 

“No, I mean, yeah, he...we are family. It's just...Weird. Really, really weird.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“I...uhm.” There was a lot he wanted to talk about. There was so much he couldn't talk about just because it might be private Avenger-type stuff, but there was so much more that he couldn't talk about just because he...couldn't. He didn't know what to say.

 

“Ok, not ready to talk about that either, that's ok. How did your cousin handle your little street fight on Monday?”

 

“How do you know about that?”

 

“I have a life outside of this office. Sometimes, I even go online.”

 

“Oh. Well, he, uh. Didn't like it. But it's not like I went out looking for a fight. I was out for a walk and they were going to hurt her and -”

 

“Peter! It's ok. I'm not here to judge you. You don't have to justify yourself to me.”

 

“Right. I didn't mean to, though. But now he's got an agent keeping an eye on me every day when he goes to work. I'm half going back to school just to get some freedom.”

 

“When are you going back?”

 

“Monday.”

 

“Good! You really should be in school, if you can handle it. Do you have a plan for what to do if you get overwhelmed again?”

 

“Yeah...I'm going to have a study hall right after lunch. That way every day I have some time designated for quiet. And I will have a pass in case I need to step out of class...I can't abuse it, but I can use it if I need to...but I think they expect me to go see Mr. Zagorac, er, he's the guidance counselor. He's...a lot. I'd rather go see the nurse.”

  
“Did you tell them that when you were setting up this plan?”

 

“...No.”

 

“So you know that I'm going to recommend that you do mention it?”

 

“I don't think Mr. Zagorac will like that.”

 

“People may surprise you, Peter. His job is to guide students and do what's best for you. If going to the nurse is better for you than going to his office, I'm sure he'll understand.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Anything else exciting happening?”

 

“Uhm...well...Hawkeye is going to teach me self-defense. Since one of the robbers punched me in the face, Steve figured it was probably a good idea if I knew how to, well, not get punched in the face.”

 

“Do you plan on stopping a lot of robberies?”

 

“No.” Maybe. Probably. If he got the hang of heroing, most likely. “But just in case.”

 

“I suppose it is better to be safe than sorry, and it's a good workout, too. Personally, I find kickboxing to be a great way to relax. Maybe you'll find an outlet to help you work through your anger. Are you still feeling angry?”

 

“Sometimes? I keep feeling a lot of nothing in between. I've been really busy with, uh, research...I studied some chemistry with Dr. Banner, and Mr. Stark gave me some engineering lessons to work on. And then there's keeping up with the regular school work. I have a test to take tomorrow morning.”

 

“You're certainly keeping busy, aren't you. Or are you just trying to distract yourself?”

 

“I...yeah, kind of? But...Dr. Keller, I...I can't _do_ anything about this. May and her team, they would never have been reckless like that, and -” He couldn't tell her. Because then he'd have to explain how he knew. Which would be admitting to being a criminal. But he had to talk about something. Not just because it was kind of a requirement for the setting but because he needed to get it out to someone, somehow. “It just doesn't seem right. None of it does. But I can't change anything that's happening right now. But maybe, if I work really hard, maybe I can change something...eventually.”

 

“Ahh. It's good to be driven, Peter. Especially if you want to right the wrongs of the world. But you should also know that all the teams that went in ruled it as a lab accident. Maybe you can complete their work someday, with less volatile results.”

 

“...I...I guess. Yeah. Maybe.” All the teams that went in, she'd said. And that was true, and he hadn't thought about that. There were paramedics, and firefighters, and police officers, and other sorts of investigators. They'd all been there. And all the reports said it had come from the lab. Even though his own eyes had told him differently.

 

“Do you know what they were working on?”

 

“Just things that would help save the world. That's, uh, what May always said. Ben would always ask if she was curing the common cold or something. But they were under pretty strict contracts not to talk about their work outside of work, even with family.”

 

The way her eyes bore into him, even though it was only for a second longer than was normal, made him want to look away, but he was about 40% sure that looking away would be some kind of sign that he was lying. They'd said so on one of those crime dramas Ben loved making fun of. But he thought he remembered Ben saying that one could be true sometimes. So he stared right back at the doctor.

 

And then she abruptly shifted tracks.

 

“Peter, I want you to do something this week. I don't want to give you homework, but I think this will help. Whenever you start feeling overwhelmed, make a note of it in a journal. Note what was happening before you started feeling that way, how you felt, and what helped you feel better or what made you feel worse. Or if you didn't feel better, write that down, too. Include big things like your nightmares, little things like...like how you said the school is just so loud, and maybe even things that you didn't notice in the moment. We'll look it over next week and see if we can formulate a plan for helping you get through the night.”

 

“Ok. I can try.” He was going to need to omit a lot of things, though.

 

“Good. Well then, our time is up for this week. Remember, be patient with yourself.”

 

“Thank you. I'll see you next Friday.”

 

Melissa was waiting in the waiting room for her appointment when he got out. He supposed he was going to be seeing her every Friday. And he wanted to tell her so badly. Hey, they might be alive. I might have proof they didn't do it. Proof that I got because I'm the guy that broke into the lab. And my cousin, who as it turns out is Captain America himself, is using his connections at the super-spy organization, SHIELD, to look into it.

 

But he couldn't say any of that.

 

“Hey. How are you doing?”

 

“Keeping it together. You?”

 

“Same.”

 

And then she was gone. And he had missed his chance to say anything at all.

 

When he checked the Facebook group. The adults were talking about how they were having a lot of trouble finding a lawyer willing to take the case.

 

If they had the information Peter had, they might have an easier time.

 

But he hadn't even gotten pictures.

 

That weekend, he dedicated himself to trying to figure out...anything. He knew some of what they were working on, and there were dozens of unfinished projects that he could guarantee plenty of people would kill for, if they were successful, the Spider Project among them. Even though they were only researching healing properties and had no way to know what they'd truly created, a super-healing serum could change the world. And there were definitely people greedy enough to want that for themselves.

 

He also found that there were a lot more people in the world who were capable of pulling off something like that than he'd realized, though most of the internet seemed focused in crazy conspiracy theories of deep dark hidden secret (and, most likely, nonexistent) societies seeking to take over the world. Then again, hidden bad guys was kind of SHIELD's special thing. And Steve said he was looking, and listening, and, Peter hoped, had SHIELD looking for who had conducted the attack, too...but so far there hadn't been a peep. But they had to be looking into it. Weapons that could melt human bodies for days after they were used were kind of a big international security issue.

 

He couldn't even get it off his mind on Sunday, despite being taken to Avenger's tower to train with the Clint Hawkeye Barton. Sure, the super-shooter wasn't most people's favorite since, by comparison, he had the misfortune of being the most normal person that most people saw. But he was still an Avenger. Just because no one properly appreciated how he'd managed to take down a bunch of aliens with a bow and arrows didn't mean he was less than the others.

 

Yet, instead of being a puddle of excitement, Peter's mind kept chasing translucent threads that led nowhere.

 

“Pay attention!” Mr. Barton scolded. They were barely through the basics and he'd already noticed Peter's wandering mind. “Do you _want_ to get your nose broken again?”

 

“No sir. I'm sorry.”

 

“What's got you so distracted?”

 

“A lot of things.” Mr. Barton let out a sigh.

 

“Ok, well, remember. You're here now. Whatever else is going on will still be there tonight.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Good. Ok, hands up here, like this – Better.” He started by showing Peter some of the forms – how to hold himself when punching or kicking, how to protect his face, and how to get out of various holds. Basic self-defense. “There's no shame in running. And, when all else fails, don't be afraid to be dirty,” he recommended. “Go for what hurts. Real-world fights aren't about sportsmanship, they're about surviving. And whatever you do, don't try to be Steve. No one can be Steve. Sometimes he can't even be him. And if he can't live up to his own mythos, then us normal guys definitely need to keep our limits in mind."

 

"...yeah."  _Oh, by the way, I can pick up cars. Can Steve pick up cars?_  

 

Of course, Peter didn't say that out loud. Mr. Barton picked up on his hesitation, though. "Come here." He led Peter over to a punching bag. Not Steve's punching bag, just a regular one. Steve's was triple-reinforced, to allow him to use more of his strength when he wanted to get a workout in. "I want you to pretend this is the guy that hit you. Hit him where it hurts."

 

Peter didn't have a hard time imagining that. After all, he'd broken the guy's ribs. For Mr. Barton, he took a deep breath, spread his feet, and lifted his fists.  _Don't break it. Don't break it. Do not break it._ He threw a limp punch, purposefully doing a few things wrong. 

 

"No, come on now. I told you. Like this." Mr. Barton showed him again. "We're going to work on this until you get it right."

 

Peter didn't want to waste his afternoon with Hawkeye on this one thing, either. So he decided to try a different tactic. Following directions, but keeping his muscles as relaxed as he could to make the least impact possible. He shook his arms out, acting as though he was trying to do his best, and then he gave it his absolute worst. 

 

The bag barely wobbled, and Peter figured that the wobble was just because of the inertia he'd caused rather than his actual strength. 

 

"Now give it twenty more of those with each fist."

 

"Yes, Sir." Peter could feel a nervous sweat along his spine. Maybe after this was done, and when he wasn't grounded anymore, he could go find a few things to actually punch properly, so he could see how strong he really was.

 

Mr. Barton crossed his arms, keeping a close eye on the kid in front of him. Peter hoped he was just assessing his form, and so he tried his best to replicate the form exactly as Mr. Barton had showed him. "Good, good," the hero said when he was five punches in. "Widen your stance just a little." He was right, that was better. And also made it harder for Peter to avoid making the mistake of doing things right. 

 

His palms were soaked, his forehead beaded with sweat. Which he hoped was at least working his favor, even though his nerves were making him feel like he wanted to throw up. 

 

He could see his hands start shaking the longer Mr. Barton stared.

 

"You ok, Kid?"

 

"Yeah. I'm fine. I, uhm, I'm just...not very good at this."

 

"If you need a break, let me know." 

 

"No, no, I'm...I'm fine. Really. Honest."

 

"Seriously. Don't push yourself just to impress me."

 

"I...Just...don't like thinking about punching people?"

 

Mr. Barton let out a laugh. "You don't want to punch people. What was your plan then?"

 

“What?”

 

"Monday. What was your plan? You are a thirteen year old kid. And a scrawny one at that. You're not a police officer, or a soldier, or a superhero.”

 

“...I know.”

 

“Do you? Because I've known plenty of thirteen year olds that didn't try to take on a heavyweight burglar.”

 

“They were going to hurt her and her dog.”

 

Clint sighed. “You still need to have a plan. Walking into a fight without a plan is just asking for trouble."

 

"What if you don't have time to make a plan?"

 

"Unless you do what I do, and you don't, there's always time to look at a situation before jumping in. And if someday you do get to do what I do, you'll be trained enough to know how to handle surprises. But right now you're a kid. Your first line of defense should be calling for help, then, only if you can't run away, defend yourself."

 

"But if-"

 

"If a lady and her dog need help, encourage her to run away. Got it?"

 

"...Got it."

 

“Now, fists up. Let's do it again.”

 

One of Clint's goals was to figure out where Peter's limits were so that Steve (and everyone else) could be prepared themselves if trouble ever came after this kid, but it almost seemed like the kid didn't have any. He knew the kid definitely should have at least some breathing issues as a minimum. But he didn't. For hours, he ran the kid through exercises, and the worst that seemed to affect him was his nerves and his morals. And morals were a good thing to have, but they didn't help Clint figure out where they needed to go next in his training. 

 

“Are you sure this kid has asthma?” he asked Steve after he'd finally decided _for_  Peter that he'd had enough and sent him off to hang with his favorite nuclear biochemist/physicist/whatever. “He had no problems keeping up. _None_.”

 

“That's what his medical records say. And it does run in the family.”

 

“I think you need to take that kid in for a physical, because he's definitely not the weakling his papers sell him as. The kid's strong. Stronger than he was letting on. He was holding back. Said he didn't like the idea of hitting people."

 

"He has been told he's weak his whole life. Maybe he believes it."

 

“That's a shame, because he's pretty physically fit for a thirteen year old.” Steve's demeanor changed at his words. "What, that should be good news. Your kid is healthy!

 

“I...I'm glad he's healthier than his records let on, but...that means he doesn't have anything holding him back, either. And I...I really don't want him to be out there trying to be a mini-me.”

 

It was interesting, seeing the nerves of a man who could stand strong against world-ending aliens. Clint didn’t blame him, though. Even the best kids were pretty intimidating. They relied entirely on their adults to guide them and guard them, and there was a lot of ways everything could go very, very wrong. Especially when your guide was a superhero – and not just any superhero. The original superhero, the one who defined the role for everyone who would come after. “There’s gotta be at least a million kids who want to be you when they grow up,” was all he said.

 

“He’s a bit more involved than they are.”

 

“Y’know, Bruce and Tony both said he’s brilliant. He really could be a great Avenger someday, with the right training.”

 

“No. We will not train a child to be a soldier–“

 

“I never said that. What I mean is, if it's something he wants to do, it might be better to give him the option and a path to follow rather than try to close him off from it entirely. If he wants it, he's going to go for it with or without you. Maybe with some guidance he won’t be out, you know, getting his nose broken on street corners like you used to.” At the confused look on Steve’s face, he let out a laugh. “What, I’m supposed to think you didn’t go out and try to help poor defenseless dogs, even before all this? You really want me to think _you_ never broke your nose?”

 

“...Yeah, I...took a few punches right to the face as a kid.”

 

“Exactly. He’s just like you. And I don't need to have grown up with you to know that.”

 

“I wasn't usually alone, though. I always had my best friend, if I got in over my head, he was never far behind. No one messed with Bucky. Of course, things weren't like they are now. Crime might be down, but somehow everything is more dangerous than it's ever been.”

 

“If it makes you feel better, my wife and I have already started trying to figure out what to do and say if and when our kids show interest in this stuff. It’s not like you can hide those kinds of things from them when you’re all over TV and the internet and everything else, no matter how far you move from the city. And you didn’t get lucky enough to have time to make a plan. You got a fully formed teenager who is just. Like. You. Try to think about what would’ve helped you at his age.”

 

“Oh, there are a few things that come to mind, none of them good. But this...seems like a good place to start.”

 

Clint tilted back his mug, but paused as another thought struck him. “Was his nose really broken?”

 

“That's what the medic said, but we didn't go get x-rays or anything. The officer on the scene said he almost had a breakdown at the thought of going to a hospital, so we didn't go. I guess it wasn't that bad.”

 

“Ah.” He didn't sound completely convinced, but what else could explain Peter's completely bruise-free face?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint really gets ignored a lot. He spent half of the MCU trying to be retired so he could be with his family (and of course the world and universe had other plans for him every time), but that's not an excuse. I really loved the secret family twist, though. Of all the things that were wonky in Age of Ultron, that was one of the things that I thought was a great addition to this Clint Barton. And that makes him doubly useful in this story, since he has kids and a family so he is uniquely positioned to be the most helpful ally Steve has. Which is why I had Steve call him instead of Nat - she may be the more adept hand-to-hand fighter, but Clint isn't a pushover in that department, and Clint knows more what conversations need to be had, and what needs to be watched out for.


	15. Chapter 14

The return to school was, amazingly, significantly less eventful than his first attempt. Oh, sure, no one knew how to talk to him and the teachers were still uncomfortable, but the news was no longer discussing what had happened, and there had been more than enough time for new gossip to crop up. Apparently, Heather Palaski had dumped a milk-and-ketchup slurry on another girl's head (because the girl was also dating her boyfriend) and the two had gotten into a fistfight. Not some 'catfight' interpretation of how 14-year-old girls fought, but an actual fistfight.

 

Everyone seemed to think Heather was a bit of a hero for it, despite her week-long suspension, and, well, attacking another student. (She was also just returning to school the same day Peter was. Which was an even greater boon to his sanity.)

 

The school still felt like he'd been thrown into a beehive, but at least now he knew why. Now he had ways to tune it out. Now he had permission to tune it out. When he stuck some earplugs in, no one questioned why. As long as he was still taking his notes (the teachers checked) and understanding the information (suddenly there were more pop quizzes in his classes specifically, though thankfully they were ungraded), no one bothered him.

 

They did bother him when he started doodling diagrams – 'this isn't art class, Mr. Parker, save your character designs for after school; if you're bored maybe try doing your homework?' – so he knew he had to be careful about that. At least he didn't have to worry that any of them would figure out what he was drawing. Everyone was completely convinced that it was for his and Ned's D&D campaign.

 

Especially when everyone seemed to think he didn't know anything.

 

Mr. Stark’s engineering lessons (as taught by Jarvis) proved to be a bit, well. Peter didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so he didn’t complain, but so far they were rudimentary, and Jarvis was the strictest teacher he'd ever had. There was to be no skipping any lessons, even Peter had already learned them at robotics camp, and Jarvis was absolutely determined to keep things at a steady pace.

 

Jarvis was making Mr. Stark's engineering lessons completely boring, and Peter was getting antsy.

 

It wasn't a complete waste of time though. He took the things he did learn and combined it with what he already knew and started working on some of his ideas. Plus, it gave him leeway to use Mr. Stark's tools to fiddle around with is own creations and claim to Jarvis that he was just 'repeating the lesson.' Jarvis only graded him once, so 'repeating a lesson' turned out to be extremely useful.

 

The first and easiest thing he made was a pair of goggles to help him focus. Even with them on, he was still taking in way too much information, but they definitely helped him not get distracted. He used his lessons to create a zoom. Sure, he had to manually adjust them in and out, but until he figured a way to have them adjust just based on his squints or blinks that would have to do.

 

The second task was the most important and by far most difficult endeavor he’d ever undertaken: Web whips. Or web guns. Or...he wasn't sure what he'd call them. He'd started with goggles because he needed them to just be able to function, but he was sure that if he was going to be a spider-themed hero, then he was going to need spider webbing. And he already had a long list of possible uses for it. A literal list, actually. Which everyone who saw it was thankfully accepting his excuse that it was for D&D, too.

 

Not that he actually had a lot of time to dedicate to the game. Time that wasn't spent with his extra-curricular lessons or going out his way to keep up the appearances of being a normal teen was spent 'at the library.' Studying. (Where it was much quieter and normal-er than a posh Tony Stark penthouse.)

 

And technically, _technically_ he wasn’t ever lying, either. Now that Agent Babysitter was on backup in case someone was needed to watch Peter for a weekend and not actively standing guard in the penthouse, he was free to go to pre-approved places. Like the library. And the library just so happened to have levels, which made it a great building to practice leaps and flips and all other manner of tests on. _And,_ when the weather was nice, he could also work on the web-making device on the library's roof, far far away from Jarvis.

 

“Hey!” he greeted as he answered his phone on October 28th. There were tons of kids out in costumes since trick or treat could never happen on Halloween proper anymore. More than one stopped to point a camera at the masked stranger casually standing on the side of the library's wall as they passed by.

 

“Hi, Peter, sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt your studying, but can you head home early tonight?” Steve’s voice came through clear.

 

“Uh…yeah, sure…why?”

 

“I...just was just called in for a mission tonight.” While Peter wasn't grounded or anything like that, he still wasn't allowed to be out and wandering about while Steve was at work. If something were to happen, the captain didn’t want it to be happening when he wasn’t available. It wasn’t super unreasonable, given everything.

 

But this was the third time this week. And Peter had really been hoping on actually being able to get some real practice tonight. There was bound to be something, beyond the standard bike thefts and give-me-your-lunch-money type bullies he’d been handling. He suspected there would definitely some of that, especially since he'd already stopped two bullies from trying to steal kids' candy and one pair of kids who'd thought they had a  _fantastic_ prank planned that was actually probably going to end very badly. But he knew that Halloween had a reputation for trouble for a reason and he was ready to have another go at stopping a robber or something. 

 

“I’ll be home soon. I was just about to pick up some pizza.” Lie. That was a complete lie. But he knew a place on the way home that kept ready-made pepperoni pizzas that he could just grab and go home with. 

 

“Ok, please hurry.”

 

“I will. See you soon.”

 

So much for getting real practice. He let himself slide down the building, still not super confident with jumping from what was essentially the third floor to the ground. As he darted down the street, he flashed some peace fingers to the passersby as he jogged off.

 

Another great thing about this pizza place was that they had a convenient alley behind the shop, making it easy to run and flip and jump across rooftops until he got there before disappearing into the back so he could tuck his mask safely away in his backpack and trade out his hoodie for a more inconspicuous one. He changed quickly before grabbing two pizzas and a 2 liter and catching a train back to the penthouse.

 

His day clothes made him look more like a delivery boy (especially when he pulled up his hood to hide his baby face) than the kind of person who lived in a building like theirs, but he wasn’t about to change that about himself. No one gave him a second glance when he passed through the lobby. No one noticed when he flicked his keycard over at the private elevator that was set aside only for the uppermost floors.

 

He opened the top box of pizza as he hurried through their front door. “Need a bite?”

 

“No…yes.” Steve slowed down long enough to grab two slices. Peter knew at this point that the man had significantly a higher than normal metabolism and needed to eat to match it…and that sometimes he’d forget to. Just like Peter, if there was something more important on his mind. Like a last-minute spy mission. “I’ll probably be out all night, please don’t stay up late.”

 

“Or Jarvis will tattle again, I know.”

 

“This is serious.” 

 

“…right, sorry.”

 

Steve gently grabbed Peter by his shoulder. “I know you're doing fine in school, but sleep is a very necessary component for that...And make sure you get your homework done tonight.”

 

“Only if you promise not to get into too much trouble.”

 

The Avenger chuckled as he reached up to ruffle Peter's hair. “I'll do my best.”

 

“And I'll do the same.” As Steve turned to leave, Peter grabbed his sleeve. “Was there, uhm, any news on-”

 

“No, I didn't find anything today. I promise I'll tell you if I do.”

 

With a sigh, Peter let out an 'ok.' Moments later, Steve was gone, and Peter was left alone with no one other than Jarvis to keep his company.

 

He hauled the pizzas to his room so he could eat while he worked. He was finding that when he got hungry, he was often ravenously hungry. Health class said that was a normal part of teenage puberty, given that their bodies hadn't been growing this much since they were babies. Bodies needed energy to grow. Health class had also said that highly active bodies, like, say, the bodies of teens who were practicing to maybe someday join the Avengers (well, the teachers had used football and basketball as examples, but Peter wasn't interested in being a sports star), needed even more food, so he tried not to think about it too much when he was able to down two large pizzas with no problem.

 

While he was eating, he pulled out his prototype web-gun-thing. He'd definitely mastered making a sticky silly-string sorts of ropes, but it didn't really have much strength to it. He'd also managed to make somewhat strong ropes that didn't have any stick to them. Neither were what he was looking for, but he'd made note of each result as he ran through each trial. 

 

It would have been so much easier if he could have used the tools available to him, but the last thing he wanted was Jarvis telling anyone what he was up to.

 

Jarvis was wired into almost every room in the penthouse, which meant he had a speaker everywhere, always listening. While he couldn’t always tell what _exactly_ Peter was doing without a camera to be his eyes, he still took his duties as babysitter far too seriously for a computer program.

 

“What are you working on this evening, Mr. Parker?” Jarvis interrupted as Peter was trying to perform the equivalent of highly delicate surgery on the tiny bits of metal he was working with. He was going to create a properly functioning spinneret if it was the end of him.

 

“Uh…Let’s see, how can I explain it.” _‘I’m trying to crack the mystery of spider webs that scientists have been trying to figure out for decades with no luck, but I think I might be close’_ wasn’t going to fly. “It’s kind of…a toy? I guess that’s how most people would see it. You know those nerf guns? That but smaller. It's, uh, for a costume.”

 

“For a Halloween party? Or, cosplay perhaps? Who are you going as?”

 

Of course Jarvis would know what cosplay was. “I think I’ll go as Mr. Stark, but then again I usually go as him, so maybe I’ll try Hawkeye this time.”

 

“Why not Mr. Rogers? You could certainly look the part.”

 

“Are you…giving me advice? On who to cosplay as? At a comic book convention?”

 

“Would you prefer if I didn't?”

 

“Oh, no, go ahead, if you want.”

 

“Very well.” A projection of pre-serum Steve drowning in his first army uniform reflected across Peter’s wall, along with Peter’s latest school yearbook photo.

 

“That’s not creepy at all,” he hissed under his breath. He hadn't expected Jarvis to take him up on the offer. 

 

“As you can see, you have very similar bone structures. It is quite clear his cheekbones come from the same side of the family that yours comes from. And if you were to choose to go as Mr. Rogers before he received the serum, I believe you would also be about the right size, However, your chin and your nose seem to be a better match for-oh!" The projection jolted for a moment.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"It seems there has been a disruption in the flow of power in the building. Strange, it seems to have originated from two floors below us." That _was_ strange, considering, as far as Peter was aware, all of the upper floors were filled with millionaire types, half of whom barely even spent time in the city to begin with. It was possible that one of them had managed to hook up too many expensive gizmos that they didn't understand, but it was pretty unlikely that one apartment could cause a disruption in the entire building.

 

"I'll go down and make sure everyone's ok," he said. He wasn't entirely sure what standard etiquette was among wealthy neighbors who were rarely even in the same space as each other, but he also didn't know a single person who wouldn't appreciate being checked up on if something had gone horribly wrong. Besides, he had that tingle-sense that would warn him if there was actual danger. Maybe. He was still figuring that power out, and so far it had only been reliable when he himself was in danger, which was usually all he needed. So he tucked his little shooters and his mask into his hoodie pocket and headed out.

 

The elevator was back on the ground floor again, so Peter decided to take the stairs. Even in shorter buildings, the stairs were usually faster, but in a building this tall there as just no sense to using the elevator at all when you were just going down a few flights. Besides, he wasn’t sure if his keycard would even let him off at one of their floors. He’d never tried, and he'd never seen unwanted non-guests get off on his floor.

 

Two quick floors later and Peter found himself in a dark hallway. There were two apartments on this floor, apparently. The door to one was closed, but the other was wide open, with a lady slumped over in the hallway.

 

Peter yanked his mask on immediately. “Hello?” he called out. Something clattered inside the apartment, and a child started crying. “Is, uh, everything ok? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” _Please be a good person please be a good person please be-_

 

The tingling across his entire body said otherwise. He wrapped an arm around the lady, pulling her up despite the deep groan she let out, and dragged her away from the doorway just in time for his brain to feel like it was about to go into meltdown mode as a zap of electricity shot into the hall. It found a grounding to sink itself into the wall, but Peter didn't wait to see who was on the other end of it.

 

“Hey! Anyone home?” he yelled as he pounded on the neighboring door. There was no reply, so he broke the door open and pushed the lady inside. “I'm sorry, stay here, I'll deal with this guy.” The door couldn't exactly shut again, now that he'd broken it, but at least he pulled it so that there was some barrier between the lady and whatever was about to happen. “It's not nice to attack people, you know,” he chastised back in the hall.

 

He heard the burglar freeze at his words, and the crying child even quieted down. It gave him just enough time to pull his goggles on over his mask and tie his web-weapon around his wrist. Even if it didn't work the way he wanted it to, he really only needed it to do _something_ to cause a distraction. He realized too late that having the trigger be on the top part of his hand wasn't exactly the best position for it.

 

“You got that from the same place those petty jewelry store thieves got theirs, right? Do you know who I'm talking about? One of them was a freaking mountain of a guy. Are they friends of yours?”

 

The burglar – and oh did he look the part of a burglar – jumped out into the hall, shooting his weapon again. Peter's body jerked him back into the other apartment, letting the electricity dissipate again before he jumped out and shot off his own 'weapon,' stretching out his right hand and using his left to push down on the trigger. That was definitely getting a remodel, first thing when this was over.

 

The guy stumbled back as the goo that was hopefully someday going to be webbing sprayed out like Peter had strapped on a super soaker. “Crap, hold on, it worked better last time. It’s supposed to make rope, sorry, it's just a prototype-”

 

“Did you just?” The perp looked down at the white, sticky substance that was now coating his black jacket, and Peter realized what his failure looked like.

 

“Oh, uh, can we just forget this ever happened then-HEY!” He leaped for the ceiling when the guy lifted up his electricity-gun again. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s rude to point weapons at people?” Peter's web idea was a bust for the moment. He'd have to get in close if he wanted to get the weapon. “I really am sorry about the, uh, you know. I'm still ironing out the bugs...you know, so there's only spiders left.” He knew it was a bad joke, but he rather liked it.

 

“What? You – Shut up.”

 

Criminals didn't seem to like his chattering. But it also had done a good job of distracting and confusing the guy. Who would have guessed that nervous babbling could also be a superpower?

 

So he made use of his advantage and leaped at the guy to try to grab the weapon.

 

He learned almost immediately that one day of sparring with Hawkeye did not an expert fighter make. As soon as he left the ceiling, the man grabbed him out of the air, easily tossing his small body against the wall. Peter pressed his feet against the wall, thrusting his body into the other man. He had more than enough strength, but he had never considered how to handle ariels. They looked so cool in videos, but the other guy could easily shove him around when he wasn't on the ground.

 

At least he was still able to flail. “Who the fuck are you?” the guy snarled, grabbing onto the mask on Peter's face.

 

“Spider! Uh...” He didn't have time to find an ending to his new hero-name before he felt the mask slipping up over his chin. His fingers dug into the fabric, easily holding it down, but the guy still got his goggles. Peter decided he was definitely going to find a way to attach his next pair to his mask.

 

“Spider. Great name, brat.” Peter could see the man drawing his fist back, again. He didn't need the tingling along his arms to tell him to leap away this time, he just did it. There were going to be no more broken noses for this kid, nosiree.

 

The man's fist made contact with the wall instead. Peter covered his ears at the yelp that followed. He could hear a bit of a crunch, as well. “You know, proper form can minimize the chance of your hand getting broken when you throw a punch.”

 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! What the hell are you?!”

 

“I'm a Spider! Man! I'm a Spider-man!”

 

“You're no man, brat.”

 

“Says you.”

 

Peter didn't hesitate to shoot his goo this time – he also decided that coming up with a proper name for it was going to be top priority, first thing in the morning – at the guy's face. It wasn't toxic. Well, it wasn't toxic to human skin, at least. As long as the guy didn't ingest it, Peter was sure he'd be fine.

 

What Peter wasn't expecting was the guy to just start shooting off his weapon as soon as he was blinded. Peter jumped to the ceiling as the bolts found things to ground themselves in all over the hall - the elevator's keypad, the plant that decorated the end of the hall...the dropped goods in the doorway of the apartment.

 

The fire started with a sputter and a crack. “Uhhh uhm…can you call 9-1-1?” he asked of the would-be burglar.

 

“Fuck that,” the guy said, bolting for the fire escape. 

 

“At least stop trying to rob people!!” Peter called after him, as though that would make a difference. He was quickly left behind with no one but him between the lady and the fire. “Uh, heeey!” he shouted into the other apartment. “If there's anyone hiding in here, there's, uh, a fire now! You need to get out, now!” The sound of the child in the other apartment made his stomach drop. "Ok, ok, ok, first, I...9-1-1. Now." They had to be first. They had to get on their way so they could stop the fire from getting worse. So he quickly dialed 9-1-1 himself as he hauled the lady up one more time to get her at least into the stairwell. She was starting to move, and making sounds that would most likely become words again, eventually. But she couldn't tell them what needed to be said.

 

“9-1-1 what's your-”

 

“Hi! There's a fire - No, wait, there was a burglar first and he had one of those super weapons that they've been talking about on the news, I think he's the penthouse perp? Anyway he started the fire or well I guess it was kind of my fault I tried to stop him but he started shooting off the weapon and some stuff caught fire and then he took off down the stairs, but we're on the 38th floor right now so he's going to be a while, unless he gets off and uses the elevator but I think that's broken maybe? His weapon messed with the electricity in the whole building oof-” He paused to lift the lady down one half-flight of stairs, so she'd be below the smoke, but the operator he was speaking with took her opening.

 

“Sir! Please, tell me your location.”

 

“Oh, right.” Suddenly, the building's fire alarms and sprinklers started going off as he prattled off the address, complete with the lady's apartment number. The sprinklers would do a great job of keeping the fire from getting out of control, but they didn't go into the apartments. And that baby needed a hero.

 

“Ev-rett,” she mumbled in his arms as she tried to get up. She was barely able to move her fingers, but Peter could feel her weakened muscles flexing.

 

“Who's that?” Peter asked.

 

“My...son...eleven...months.”

 

So that was his name. "Stay. Here. I'm going to get him. Uh, here, stay on the phone with 9-1-1.”

 

“Sir?” the operator was calling out.

 

“I'm going to put you on with the lady who's apartment it is, I'm going to go make sure her baby is ok.”

 

“Do not go into the fire!”

 

“Here you go!” He slid the phone under the lady's head, not even pausing to make sure it was lined up with her ear, before leaping easily back up the stairs. The sprinklers drenched him immediately. As he passed by the second apartment, he made sure to shout “IF ANYONE IS IN HERE, WAKE UP NOW THERE IS A FIRE! HEAD DOWNSTAIRS!” 

 

There may have been people in there who could have used his help, but the apartment was so still that he doubted it. Meanwhile, he knew for sure that there was a defenseless toddler in the other apartment who was in danger.

 

And the fire was definitely not going out inside the apartment.

 

He could hear the kid crying now.

 

“Ok, ok, ok, I got this. I can do this. That's a lot of fire.” He crossed his arms in front of his face and pushed straight through. Not the best idea he'd ever had, but there was only one way he was getting in. “Hang in there Everett! I'm coming!”

 

It was both a plus and a negative that this apartment had only one floor – he didn't have to check too many rooms before finding the kid. But the fire was also spreading fast, and he was quickly losing access to his exit. “Hey, hey, hi, hey, no please stop screaming -” The kid pushed away from him and into the far corner of his crib. “I'm here to – ok here, look.” He pulled his mask off for a moment. “See? I'm just a guy.” The kid wasn't having it, so he pulled his mask back down. “Ok, fine.” It had been quite a while since his kindergarten safety school lessons, but he knew enough to grab a blanket to wrap around the kid before trying to go back out the front door.

 

“MAAAMAAAAA.”

 

“That's right! We're going to go find Mama.” The kid was squirmy, but thankfully he was also small. Peter swaddled the kid like he was a burrito in training before pulling the kid close to his chest.

 

They had two ways out - the window, or the door. The child let out another shriek, as though insulted that he dared ever consider dangling a helpless baby out a 38th story window, even if he was pretty sure (kinda sure) he could at least get them down a floor to safety. But the child gave another hefty squirm, seeding enough doubt for Peter to settle for the door. It wasn't the worst thing in the world – he'd learned that buildings like these were made to limit the spread of fires. The walls and ceilings and floors were made out of completely non-flammable materials, so it was really only being fueled by the furniture and the carpeting. The problem was, it had already spread to the hall they were in.

 

“We can do this. Let's go find mama,” Peter assured the kid as he took a deep breath and pushed forward. Immediately the smoke filled his nose and the flames gnashed at his soaked clothes. But still he ran, keeping his body around the child until they were through the front door. He could feel the burns forming on his legs and his arm. 

 

They'd heal. He knew they'd heal. This baby was more important.  “Ow ow ow ow-” he repeated to himself as he burst from the apartment. Once in the hall, he sat the kid down, just for a moment, under the sprinklers, so he could stop and drop and roll on the soaked carpet. Just to be safe. The water also gave him a moment to stop coughing, though the smell of smoke was still filling the hall.

 

“That wasn't so bad. Yeah. Ow. Ok, Ev, you did  _great_ but I do have some notes. Maybe a bit less screaming next time?" The toddler let out another shriek and response. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I have a lot of work to do, too.” He scooped the kid up once more, but prattled on to his not-so-captive toddler audience. While he was sure his voice wasn't doing much to soothe the kid, he was more talking to soothe himself. “I didn't think about fires. Or natural disasters, either, now that I'm thinking about things that may require heroes. It's not all aliens and burglars and weird corporations that aren't interested in telling the truth about their little lab explosions." He paused as the feeling of his burnt skin sunk in. The last time he'd been burned... "We're fine. See? I'm fine, you're fine, and we're going to get you to your mama. And I'm going to get my aunt back. That's a promise. I'm going to become the hero she needs me to be.”

 

“Everett!” the lady cried out when he pushed into the stairwell again. She was recovering from her shock fairly well. Not as good as Peter had, but he wasn't about to go comparing the two of them now that he knew what had really happened to him.

 

“We shouldn't stop here,” Peter told her. “We have to get you away from the smoke. Here, I've got you.” Peter made sure to tuck the squirmy toddler under his good arm, since the kid was much more difficult to handle, and wrapped his burnt arm around the lady to offer her support. “Just two or three floors. The police are on their way, they'll help you after that.”

 

Back in the stairwell, the boy's mama was getting stronger. She'd managed to get to her feet, though she was wobbly. Peter tucked the squirmy toddler in his good arm and wrapped his bad arm around her waist. “We're just going two floors down, ok? One step at a time. I've got you.”

 

“Thank you,” she said. And then she said it again, and again, and again, for every step they took.

 

By the time they reached the 35th floor, she was strong enough to at least keep hold of her child, and the boy definitely needed his mom's comforting arms. And Peter needed a break.

 

“Who are you?” the lady asked as she sunk to the ground, holding her baby close.

 

“Spider-Man,” he told her, though this time with much more confidence. Her face scrunched up a bit, like she was trying to hold back a laugh.

 

“Well, thank you for your help, Spider- _Man_. Is there anything we can do to repay you?”

 

“Just make sure you cooperate fully with the cops when they get here, help them figure out who that guy is. And, uh, oh, did you grab my phone?”

 

“Oh, yes, here you are.”

 

“Thank you.” He glanced down as she passed it to him, noticing that the call with 9-1-1 had been dropped, probably because the phone was soaked and had, at some point, turned off. Hopefully just because it had run out of battery and not because he'd fried its circuits. He didn't want to have to ask Mr. Stark for another one. “Uh, you should call 9-1-1 from your phone and let them know you're ok. And stay on with them until help arrives.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I...I need to get home. People don't usually take kindly to ski maks, and it's after curfew. I'll get in trouble if I stay out late.

 

“Yeah, good idea, Spider- _man_.”

 

He was glad he had a ski mask on because he could feel his cheeks flushing. “Uh, yeah, uhm, well. Bye.” With that, he jumped down several flights as quickly as he could, until he reached one of the more normal floors, where he decided to cross over to one of the other stairwells and loop back up.

 

What else could he do? He didn't want people finding out that the boy who no one ever paid attention to was someone worth paying attention to.

 

“Mr. Parker,” Jarvis started the moment he pushed through the front door. "You're soaked!"

 

"I know." Peter had already stashed his gear in the hallway vent, so now he just had to make sure to keep his arm up against the wall so that the camera at the entrance wouldn't catch sight his blackened hoodie. Once he was past the front door, and as long as he didn't wander into the lab (which he wasn't planning on doing tonight), he'd be good.

 

“According to the news, there was a fire downstairs.”

 

“Oh, reporters are here already? Great. Guess they've got nothing better to do on a Monday night.”

 

"Were you down there when it started?"

 

"...Yeah. That's, uh, why I'm soaked. I helped the lady and her baby get out of there."

 

“Are you injured? Should I contact-”

 

“No! I'm fine, I promise. Steve's on an important mission. Please don't worry him.”

 

“I am under strict orders to advise him if you-”

 

“I'm not hurt! Ok? I'm fine. I just need a shower.” Peter noticed his hands were trembling as he quickly made himself a good ol’ PB&J in the kitchen. He really had been in danger back there, hadn't he? Real, true danger. 

 

Like Oscorp all over again.

 

But this time, he was able to save someone.

 

“I’m going to head to bed,” he announced when he was finished. “Let Steve know I went to bed on time, would you?”

 

“Only if you do so, sir.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

Peter scarfed down the sandwich almost as quickly as he’d made it before retreating to his bathroom, carefully peeling his clothes off. “Agh,” he hissed as quietly as he could manage. Both of his calves had mild burns, but his arm looked almost too similar to- "It's fine," he whispered to himself. "It's just fire burns. Not acid burns. It's fine." Jarvis wasn’t hooked up to the bathrooms – that was one privacy line he still had. But Jarvis was hooked up in the bedroom that was just on the other side of his bathroom door.

 

There wasn’t much as far as first aid in the bathroom. There really wasn’t much of anything at all, actually. He still hadn’t expanded into the space, despite having it all to himself now. Sure, he had his own supplies, a couple of May’s fancy soaps and bath salts, and Ben’s shaving cream and razor, but that was basically it. The only full first aid kit he could think of was in the guest bathroom, which was right by the lab. He did have Aloe Vera here, though. It didn’t help the pain that much, but he hoped that it would help speed up his already speeded healing, and the faster he healed the sooner it would stop hurting. So, after a quick, lukewarm shower, he slathered some on.

 

Steve came home around 6AM. Peter knew this because his nightmare had woken him up at 4:30 and he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep after that. Thank goodness for study hall, aka mid-day nap time. He'd spent the morning working on an improved webshooter design. Maybe a pull-string? He definitely couldn't do a gun-like trigger.

 

Webshooter also seemed to be a very good name for the device.

 

Even though the forecast anticipated temperatures in the mid-60s for the day, Peter still pulled on a long sleeve shirt as he got ready for school. The burn had healed a lot overnight, but not completely. While Peter was pretty sure the Spider Project had been more effective at making him a super sticker and super jumper than it had been at healing him, they had still made massive strides in their intended endeavor. “It worked,” he mumbled. And the scientists who’d created this gift would probably never know.

 

 “What was that, Mr. Parker?” Jarvis chimed.

 

“Oh, just my math homework. I was having a hard time with a problem yesterday, turns out I was just tired and forgot a few steps. I solved it now.”

 

“Good for you, Mr. Parker.” 

 

He didn’t like how comfortable he was getting with lying, even if it was to a tattle-tale computer program.

 

“Good morning, Peter,” Steve called through his door as he passed by.

 

“Good morning. And, uh, goodnight.” Steve's feet lingered outside of his door for a moment, as though he were waiting. But Peter didn't open the door. He was too nervous. He could lie to Jarvis the tattle-tale, but he hated lying to Steve.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Once he heard Steve’s bedroom door click shut, the teen hurried downstairs. Perhaps it was the exhaustion or the distraction of focusing on Steve, but he hadn’t realized they had a guest.

 

“Morning,” she said, sipping at something in a mug, comfortably leaning back in a kitchen chair with her leg crossed casually over her knee. Her hair was up. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her hair tied back before. 

 

“Uh, hi, uh, M-Ms. Romanov.” 

 

“Hey kid. Heard you have quite the evening.”

 

“Did Jarvis-”

 

“He didn't have to. It's all over the news. They don't seem to know that it's you, exactly, but it's not a hard guess. You're exactly like Steve.”

 

“I...I am?” He tried to meet her gaze, but it was as though she were seeing right through him. His eyes dropped to the floor almost on their own accord. 

 

“What happened there?” she asked, pointing to his wrist. Peter noticed a bit of pink was still poking out from under his sleeve. 

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

“It looks pretty red –“

 

“Yeah, but it’s fine. Just turned the water up way too hot.”

 

“If you’re sure.”

 

“I am.” The news behind them called out ‘the penthouse perp has struck again –‘ 

 

“He worries about you, you know.”

 

“Yeah, that...that's why I didn't-”

 

“Call? That makes him worry more. Finding out about fires in his building from the news is worse than a quick text saying 'hey, just helped a lady and her toddler out of a fire – I'm fine.' _Tell him_ these things. Ok? He's really annoying when he's worried. And he gets sloppy. He let someone punch him in the face.”

 

Peter felt his heart start to race. Steve could take a punch. Better than Peter could, and Peter had found out he could really take a punch. He was fine. But even being super strong and having super healing powers didn't stop a fist to the face from hurting. “I...yeah, ok. I can do that.” He had to do better, at least. He couldn't be the reason that Captain America got hurt.

 

“Good. Make sure you do, or I'll come back here and kick your butt.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (My apologies for lateness - since this chapter is the closest we're going to get to a Halloween chapter, I wanted to wait until October 1st to post since it was just one day later than my usual day.)
> 
> I have spent so many hours these last couple of weeks checking and re-checking current research on synthetic spider silk, and last I'd heard science hadn't figured it out, but apparently they've made some great progress (see: hydrogel silk, for one example) since the last time I was curious, finding all different kinds of ways to make synthetic silk that's almost as good as real silk, and a way to make it that doesn't include trying to farm spiders. But all of the breakthroughs they've had have required a lot of high-level technology that Peter...well, could have access to, if he talked about his spider-ness, but doesn't have access to because he's trying to hide it. (And I know previous iterations used other kinds of materials like nylon, but I think Peter can and would do better.) 
> 
> The more I read the more I realized most iterations of Peter making webshooters and webfluid (given that Peter has rarely started out with high tech tools or a chemistry lab in his own bedroom) is almost the Spider equivalent to building a portable (say, heart-sized, roughly) and highly sustainable energy device (such as an arc reactor) in a poorly lit cave with nothing but scraps. And he's doing it without any of the previous education or decades experience building crazy things like this.


	16. Chapter 15

By December, Peter might almost have considered himself comfortable with his new life. Things were as close to normal as they were ever going to be again, for someone who was related to an Avenger. It wasn't like Steve's teammates came over every Friday for beers and poker or whatever it was old people did when they hung out. Almost all of them had day jobs.

 

Well, as ‘day job’ as it could get.

 

When Steve wasn't serving as an assistant or 'special guest' teacher and he wasn't away on missions, he was doing all other sorts of things, like making cheesy PSA videos for the various departments of the government. He also regularly made sure to visit still-living survivors from the war. They still remembered him first hand. Who he really was, not just who the history books said he was.

 

He also mentioned going to see 'Peggy' a few times each month, but Peter didn't want to pry. Partly because he didn't want to think about it. On those days, Steve was always home before Peter was, along with a hearty home-cooked meal, ready to watch movies. Those were evenings when Peter made certain to head home right after school, since it seemed to him that Steve really needed family time after his visits with Peggy.

 

As for the others, well, Hawkeye and Ms. Romanov were active SHIELD agents - currently somewhere in China, from what he understood - and Steve of course was semi active, but mostly a special teacher. Thor was still off world, being the intergalactic prince that he was. Hulk was still MIA - the internet was more convinced than ever that he was on his own home planet, they were even selling shirts with Hulk's in flying saucers on them. Peter decided it would be better to keep Dr. Banner’s laughter at the thought to himself. He _had_ gotten the man one of those shirts for Christmas, though. With Steve's blessing, since he had to ask Steve for the money to get it in the first place.

 

Dr. Banner was usually at Avenger's Tower doing whatever Dr. Banner usually did. Peter assumed that he was also working for SHILED, just using the fancy tower lab because it had to be the most amazing lab on the entire planet. Tonight was different, though - tonight he'd come over for a holiday dinner. The adults were trying to act like everything was normal and fine, but Peter had seen the day’s news, too.

 

Happy was in the hospital, people were setting off bombs, and terrorists were cutting into news feeds to kill people. Oh, and Mr. Stark had dared the bomb people to come at him. Naturally.

 

There was a knot in the kid’s stomach telling him this Christmas might not be as happy as he’d been hoping, no matter how great and normal and comforting the ham baking in their oven smelled, or how comforting the flickering apple cinnamon candle was, or even how homey their Christmas tree made this way-too-spacious penthouse feel. Bad things were happening. Bad things always seemed to happen right when Peter was feeling the most happy.

 

“He shouldn’t be alone,” Dr. Banner whispered. They thought Peter couldn’t hear them, since normal people wouldn’t have been able to.

 

“We’re just a call away. SHIELD is keeping an eye on the situation.”

 

“If I wasn’t here, where would you be right now?” The captain didn’t reply right away. Peter didn’t need to see his face to know what it had to have looked like. After Mr. Stark’s little ‘come get me’ commandment to the guys who’d hurt Happy, both Steve and Peter been ready to pack their bags and actually go get him – and shove him in the nearest safe house, whether he liked it or not. Not that Steve would’ve let Peter go. But that didn’t stop Peter from trying to plan ways to hitchhike his way there. He’d hide with the luggage or something. 

 

But it turned out that neither of them were going, because a call had come in. And, shortly after, Dr. Banner was at their door with bags full of groceries for a little Christmas-time feast. “I should just go back to India. Everyone would be better off.”

 

“Bruce-“

 

“Don’t…start with me.” Again, Steve stopped. “I’m going to go meditate.”

 

Dr. Banner breezed through, choosing the study and shutting the door. Peter glanced up to see Steve hovering by the dining room doorway. “Uhm. Hey, did you pick out something for us to send to Happy?” he tried to shift the subject.

 

“I have a few ideas,” Peter replied, letting the captain brush the spat under the rug for the moment. “But, do you really think he’s a flowers kind of guy? He seems to be a food kind of guy. We can send food now. There’s all kinds of food baskets.”

 

“But will the hospital allow it?”

 

“…I don’t know.”

 

“Exactly. We should stick to something safe. Ham’s in the oven, potatoes are almost done. Can you wash up and help me out?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

If Steve wanted normal, this was definitely the performance of normalcy. Setting the table, cleaning the dishes they used for cooking, wiping up the counters, and just generally being normal people doing normal things having a normal dinner of ham, green beans, and mashed potatoes with a beautiful pie waiting for desert. They did bicker, in a sense, just a little bit. They'd debated about what to put in the mash, and how lumpy (or not lumpy, in Peter’s opinion) they should be. But that was also a normal kind of bickering.

 

His eyes glanced over a picture of him, May, Ben, and his mom that they’d agreed to hang up in the dining room. That way they could all eat together. It was stupid, and sappy. But Peter liked it all the same.

 

Dr. Banner returned after about fifteen minutes. He was quieter, more serious than Peter had ever seen him be. Being tied to New York, for whatever reason they were stuck here, was ruining any comforting mood they'd tried to create. There wasn’t exactly anything they could do about it now, though. “So, uhm, have you seen any of the claymation Christmas Specials?” Peter asked. “They’re real old, but not like super old-“

 

“Like me,” Steve finished for him.

 

“Uh, not that you’re old-“

 

“Which Christmas specials?”

 

“Frosty the snowman, or Rudolph...and the dentist elf?”

 

“Dentist elf?”

 

“Yeah, he was supposed to make toys but he just wanted to be a dentist.”

 

“Several of the Rankin and Bass specials are on channel 8 tonight,” Jarvis informed them. “Including the one with the elf. Shall I play them?”

 

“Sure, why not,” Steve relented. They’d never really spoken about ‘no tech at the dinner table’ as much as it just usually happened on its own because Peter was too afraid of being rude to Captain America. If the world found out about their relation, the last thing he wanted was to be known as the bratty teenage cousin.

 

ABC popped up on the wall, just as the old snowman was introducing his story. Almost immediately, the old soldier was engrossed. It was another entirely new thing he hadn’t seen before. “How did they make this?”

 

“Clay,” Peter told him as he grabbed the mashed potatoes. “Moved very slowly, one frame at a time. That’s why it’s sometimes really stiff.”

 

Peter heaped potatoes on everyone’s plates, only stopping when Dr. Banner yanked his plate away. “I think this will be more than enough for me,” he laughed.

 

“You sure?” Peter asked. 

 

“The better question is, are _you_ sure you can eat all that?”

 

“All that and then some,” the captain laughed as he hefted the juicy ham onto the table. “I don’t think we ever have leftovers, between my metabolism and his.” 

 

“Haha, ok then. Just be careful what you eat, kid – it will catch up to you someday.” 

 

Despite the waistline warning, the trio easily polished off the entire ham and all of the potatoes and green beans, and Dr. Banner did not seem the slightest bit ashamed as he sank into the couch. “Does Dr. Banner have any family?” Peter whispered.

 

“Uhm, not...no,” Steve replied. “I know he has one cousin, but he doesn't really keep in touch.”

 

“Huh. Well, he has us, too.” Peter flushed as he realized how sappy his words were. He decided that it was just because it was Christmastime. Christmas was the perfect time for sappiness, and he was definitely not about to turn down a chance at having more family, not now that his own family had dwindled so much.

 

Steve didn't make fun of his sappiness. Maybe he even appreciated it, for all Peter knew. He certainly enjoyed listening as Dr. Banner recounted his own memories of a childhood growing up with these specials while they cleaned up before having desert.

 

“ _I'm Mister-_ ” the TV sang out, only for the news jingle to suddenly interrupt the special. “Breaking news – the Stark mansion in California has been destroyed. Iron Man is missing-”

 

The news continued on for a few more minutes, summarizing what had happened, showing the attack, summarizing the safety measures that were being considered, and providing advice to everyone while they waited to hear from the federal and state governments what the official action was going to be. Stay indoors, if you must go out do not go out alone, call the police if you see _anything_ suspicious. The reporter told people to treat this the way they treated 9/11, twelve years ago. Only call emergency services if necessary, keep the lines as clear as possible, just in case.

 

After all, if someone was brave enough to attack Iron Man's house, what else were they capable of?

 

Peter's eyes turned to the adults at his side. Steve had a firm hand on Dr. Banner's shoulder, and Dr. Banner's eyes were closed. He could see the man's lips moving, but there was no sound coming out. Steve's other hand was gripping the spatula he'd been cleaning, his knuckles white, and Peter could see the spatula bending to the form of his hand.

 

And Peter, for a moment, couldn't think. He couldn't process. He felt a sort of blackness at the edges of his consciousness, blocking out any chance he had of being able to comprehend the words on the TV.

 

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the broadcast was over, and Heat Miser was on the screen again.

 

“Jarvis?” Steve called out immediately when the spell was broken.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“Why didn't you say something?”

 

“I was ordered by Mr. Stark not to worry you. He didn't want to...upset anyone.”

 

“When did it happen?”

 

“Approximately 48 minutes ago.”

 

“Do you know where Tony is?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“...Is he safe?” After several moments with no reply, Steve took a deep, steadying breath and tried again. “Is he alive?”

 

“Yes. I'm afraid I do not have further information at this time.”

 

“That's alright. Just keep me updated. I don't care what Tony says...Bruce, are you alright?”

 

“I'm fine. I – hey, it's not like there's anything we can do, right? Haha.” The forcefulness of the 'haha' worried Peter, though he wasn't sure why.

 

“...I'm going to call around, see...see what we can do. Peter, I hate to ask this of you, but can you finish cleaning? Then get to bed. You still have school tomorrow.”

 

“I-school?” School he could comprehend. It was also a very sensible command. Tomorrow was the last day of school before the start of winter break. But school sounded like the exact opposite of the correct answer. “At a time like this!”

 

“Yes. School. You've already missed more days than they usually allow. If we need to, we'll...figure things out as we go. But you are going to school tomorrow.” It was so matter of fact, no room to argue. Peter still tried opening his mouth to do so, only to find himself on the receiving end of a look that could bring an army to its knees. No one was disobeying Captain Steve Rogers tonight. “You can't help fight terrorists, but the world can definitely use your mind, and everything you're gong to bring it when you grow up. But you'll only get there if you stay in school. So that's your mission. Let us handle this, and you focus on your future.”

 

“But I can!” _But I can fight. I'm as strong as you are! And I stick to walls!_ He almost said it. “I...” But he swallowed back his words. Even if Steve knew about his powers, Steve wasn't the kind of guy to let a kid run into battle against the kinds of guys who attacked Iron Man at his house. And he wouldn't really be wrong. Peter still hadn't even figured out the secret of webbing, and he was quite clumsy when it came to using his super strength.

 

So he couldn't say anything. Not right now. He had to get really good at using his powers first. He had to show Steve there was nothing to be afraid of.

 

So he nodded and went to wash the dishes while Steve called SHIELD to find out his next move.

 

Apparently, his orders were to stay in New York and to be prepared in case bombs went off there. At least, that was the reason Steve told him. But suddenly Dr. Banner was staying the night, and though Peter knew he didn't know much, he also wasn't an idiot. He could tell that SHIELD was having Steve protect Dr. Banner right now. He just wasn't sure why.

 

Maybe Dr. Banner was the smartest person on the planet or something. That did make some kind of sense. Maybe he was the only person capable of solving something, or making something. Something about him was more important than saving Iron Man.

 

But without even Steve going to to help Mr. Stark, Peter certainly had no way to get out of New York himself. Which ensured that he was going to school the next day.

 

At least they'd had a midnight update. Jarvis let them know that Mr. Stark was alive, and that their connection had been cut off because the suit Mr. Stark had been wearing had run out of power somewhere in Tennessee. But he was alive, even if the news wasn't aware of that and was running wildly out of control speculating if he was dead or not.

 

“Ugh, what won't they do for ratings,” he growled at Ned's phone during sixth period. His own phone had already been taken away by second period.

 

“Mr. Parker - _seriously_?” the teacher scolded, taking Ned's phone away, too. “Not in class! You can pick this up from the principal after school. Now, pay attention!”

 

“He's _Iron_ Man,” Ned grumbled as he watched his phone vanish into the teacher's desk. “He literally has to be fine. It's like, his job to be fine.”

 

“But what if he's not?”

 

Peter couldn't keep losing people. He barely had any family left as it was.

 

At least he only had to explain himself to his principal. Though he could see the disappointment in her slumped shoulders when he went to see her after school, she knew why he was so anxious. It felt nice to not have to lie for once.

 

“Candy cane?” she offered. He accepted without looking up.

 

“I'm sorry-”

 

“Peter, I know I don't have to ask why you were so distracted today. But you know phones aren't allowed in class. Even if we both know you weren't cheating, its still a distraction, for you and everyone else around you.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…wasn’t thinking.”

 

“You had more important things on your mind, I get it. But you have to dot your I’s and cross your T’s, too. You're already not paying attention in class, you haven't been turning in all your homework.” Peter bit his tongue to keep from yelling at her. She was just trying to help. But he had so many secrets he was juggling, and he wasn't sure the teachers could even be trusted knowing who his cousin was, let alone knowing anything even more personal than that. “The teachers are trying to be patient, but when something like this comes up and you know you're going to have a hard day, you have to let me know you're struggling with it. That way we can make a plan with the teachers. Maybe I could keep an eye on the news for you and let you know if something happens. Just... _something_. We can't help you if you shut us out, and if you shut us out, well, things like this happen. Please, Peter, you can reach out to us when you need help. You might be surprised how much easier things go for you when you aren't pushing everyone away.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

The principal let out a deep sigh. Peter knew she was trying. He did appreciate it, really he did. But what else could he say? He really just hadn't been thinking. He needed to check to see if there were updates, he couldn't wait. So that's what he'd done.

 

And he'd do it again. He wasn't even remotely sorry. Even without his phone, he hadn't been able to pay attention. Taking his phone away had caused the opposite thing to happen – his mind had started running wild. He couldn't focus on anything, and he certainly hadn't been able to keep still. He'd broken three of his pencils into small pieces, just trying to not be a disruption and not get into more trouble.

 

Despite that, he'd still irritated all of his teachers after that, even his gym teacher as he managed to be equal parts too antsy to stand still and too distracted to actually pay attention. Luckily it was a weight lifting day in gym. Unluckily, his distraction had both been dangerous to his classmates and shown his gym teacher that he was much stronger than the teacher had realized. Now the teacher was going to push him more. Which was the last thing he wanted when he was already trying to hard not to break everything just by accidentally poking it too hard.

 

“Here's your phone, and Ned's. I don’t want to see either of them again. Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes ma’am.” His fists started to clench down on the phones as he tried to keep himself from checking for news, but as soon as he felt their forms threatening to bend in his grip he shoved them into his pocket instead. 

 

“Now, get home before Mr. Rogers and the rest of the neighborhood starts worrying about you, too. I'll see you next year.”

 

Ned was waiting just outside, a glare set deep in his brow. “Sorry about that,” he offered as he gave his friend's phone back, and this time he did at least mean it.

 

“Dude, what is with you lately?”

 

“A lot of things.” He paused, checking Twitter for updates.

 

“Is it...family stuff? I'm sorry, I haven't been thinking about-”

 

“Huh? Oh, no no, not-I'm doing alright, honest.” For once, that wasn't the source of his gloomy demeanor. “I'm sorry I got your phone taken away. Mr. Stark is just...I...did I ever tell you that I met him? A few years ago? At the Stark Expo.”

 

“You were _there_?”

 

“Yeah. And he saved me from one of those murderbots.” _And gave me my phone and the apartment I'm living in and he's kind of a bigger mess than most people know._

 

“Damn. Ok, look, he's still Iron Man. He's probably out there right now hunting down those terrorists. You know, even though everyone is reporting that he's dead, they _clearly_ caught video of a reverse-comet flying away from his mansion. And since comets don't go back up once they come down, that's probably him. He's alive out there somewhere, and probably like tomorrow morning he'll be on the news saying it's all taken care of. Everything's fine.”

 

“I know...everything could be fine. But it might not be, too. I'm pretty sure he can't survive a direct missile if they throw one at him, and those explosions were...Well, they were...” Though it was a completely different type of explosion, the news hadn't been shy of showing the moment of the attack. They had put out a warning, but Peter hadn't heeded it. He should have.

 

“Dude. You watched that? No wonder you've been messed up today.”

 

“...Yeah. That...that would be one of the reasons.” He took a deep breath, focusing his energies instead on unwrapping the candy cane. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he didn't find some sort of outlet. Collapsing in a heap right here on the sidewalk felt like a good answer. It was a bit too cold for that option though.

 

“Do you want to come over tonight? Or, do you want me to, er, walk home with you?”

 

“No, no, that's – I have to go to therapy.” As soon as he said the words, he realized that wasn't happening. He did _not_ have the energy to deal with his weekly interrogation session.

 

“Ugh, right. You _never_ hang out anymore. When are we even going to start the next D&D game?”

 

“Ahhh, soon? January, definitely. I promise.”

 

“You promised in November, too.”

 

“I'll keep my promise this time. I...I was, ok I was doing extra courses, in engineering basics, but I've finished them now, so I'll have some extra free time” Again, it was only partly untrue. He was getting good at half-truths. He'd dropped all after school clubs since he'd have Dr. Banner's letter of recommendation and he'd dedicated that time to more interesting things, like testing out his powers, studying things like parkour and martial arts videos on YouTube, figuring out the secret to webs (he was so close, he was sure of it), and, of course, finishing Mr. Stark's lessons. And he'd just finished the last one. “...That is the nerdiest thing ever, isn't it?”

 

“Dude...yes. But. why didn't you invite me? I could use something extra to add to my application. Everyone is going to have band or math club or whatever, but how many people are going to be able to say they took engineering lessons in their spare time?”

 

“Oh. Uhm. That's...that is a good point. I'm sorry, I didn't think of...that. I'll, er, I'll talk to my cousin.” He paused. Why wasn't he telling Ned about Steve, anyway? Months ago that made sense, because he had a million other new things on his mind. But now, not telling Ned was more of a burden than it was beneficial. “Maybe meeting my cousin can be your Christmas present.”

 

“I got you something pretty awesome, so I was kinda hoping you'd get me something cooler than 'hey, this is cousin Steve.' Not that I _don't_ want to meet him, but come on man.”

 

“Oh, he is definitely more awesome than most things that you could buy.” Peter supposed if he could buy his own personal Iron Man suit, that would be cooler. But then again, he also got a lifetime of being related to Captain America.

 

Peter tucked the end of the candy cane into his mouth.

 

And immediately yanked it back out. “Gross – these are awful.” That was odd. Peter had always liked candy canes before. Maybe it was just a cheap brand.

 

“Why don't you come over tomorrow and we can finally finish Yoda?”

 

“I, not tomorrow either. I already have, uh, family plans.” Plans to hang out on the couch with Steve and Dr. Banner, waiting for definitive news that Mr. Stark was fine. Saving people from a crashing plane meant there was still some kind of chaos. Until Steve got Mr. Stark on the phone and confirmed that everything was fine, Peter knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. “Its, er, our first Christmas together, and there's a lot of things we've got to do.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Ok. Don't get sappy on me.”

 

“We can hang out next week, ok?”

 

“Fiiine.”

 

Ned waved goodbye and Peter quickly called to cancel therapy for the night. If he was being entirely honest, therapy didn't help him feel any better. It was actually making him feel worse. Half the time, it felt like an interrogation. He didn't need that today. They could meet again after Christmas.

 

For now, the Avengers plus one kid cousin had news to wait for. And wait for. And wait for some more.

 

Dr. Banner sequestered himself in his room, with Steve leaving food outside his door for when he felt up to grabbing it. Peter didn't have the energy to think too much about that. He curled up on the couch where he could have a steady news stream all weekend. He tried to study up on spiders some more, go over his chemical compounds again, double check his design ideas for the shooters, but he couldn't focus.

 

Even when some good news finally arrived – Iron Man saved several people who had fallen out of a plane – it was bittersweet. Steve tried calling him, but his calls went unanswered, save for one text: _I'm fine, stop calling._

 

Apparently, the president had been kidnapped. Of course, everyone quickly realized that Iron Man was handling it. Meanwhile, all of his backup was either on a different planet, on the other side of this planet, or stuck here in snowy New York, babysitting Dr. Banner. Steve noticed Peter's worry and let him know that War Machine (or Iron Patriot, as the government was trying to call him, but no one was buying that name) as helping him. It was clear he wanted to be there, too. But here he was instead, following orders.

 

Steve also seemed to decide that Peter had an unhealthy obsession with the situation and turned the TV off around 10PM. “How about dinner?” They'd had 'dinner,' in the form of Kraft Mac and Cheese. It wasn't enough for either of them, and Steve knew that. Food was the greatest temptation he had to offer, and Peter, try though he might, took that bait, if only because Steve's pacing and hand-wringing anxiety was blasting his anxiety off through the stratosphere.

 

“May always used to give me bananas when I was anxious about something.”

 

“I'm sorry, we don't have any bananas.” Peter knew that. He wasn't obsessed with the fruit, and Steve didn't like 'new bananas,' as he called them. Apparently the bananas Steve had grown up with were extinct now and the new flavor was so drastically different that he just didn't like it. So they just never had bananas.

 

But he really did kind of want a banana right now. If just because it was familiar, and comforting. But Steve was right. They didn't have any. So he decided to settle for other comfort food options.

 

“I know a really good Chinese place around here. Or we could get burgers, or gyros. Actually, gyros sound really good.”

 

“Ok, yeah. That does sound good. A lot of the soldiers, back during the war, said they'd tried gyros while they were on leave, but I never actually got to have one.”

 

Peter made sure to pick out the best late night gyro place that they could still reach. He didn't want to let down a guy who'd been waiting 70 years to try one after all.

 

What he didn't do was dress appropriately for the walk there. Well, that wasn't true. He had dressed in what was usually a pretty appropriate number of layers. It was just colder than he was used to. Usually practice kept his body really warm, and he could take breaks and pop into the library when he needed to warm up. The non-monitored storage rooms on the top floor had become a really good home base, since he could leave his phone there and know it wouldn't be missing when he came back.

 

Tucking his hands into his pockets didn't help much, though if he tucked his mouth into his coat he could at least use his own breath to keep his chin warm.

 

“It's really quiet,” Steve commented.

 

“Yeah, this is a pretty quiet neighborhood. Really family-friendly...and wealthy.”

 

“Ahh, I should've guessed. But most things look nicer these days. I guess that was always going to happen, it's just been strange to see the aftermath of everything that was just getting started. You have what was only science fiction when I was a kid. Like, computers you can hold in your hand. They used to take up whole rooms-”

 

“Wait, you had computers in the 40s?”

 

“Yeah. Room-sized ones. And apparently calculators have more computing ability these days. But everything has to start somewhere. So what if it's clunky and looks awful? You can always refine it after you've figured it out. The important thing is getting it to do the right job first.”

 

“...right. Yeah. Th-that's...a good point.” A momentary stutter pushed past his teeth by mistake. But it was just so cold.

 

“You ok?”

 

“Fine! I'm...fine. It's colder than I expected.”

 

“How much further?”

 

Peter was loathe to answer since he had to yank a hand out of his pocket. “Google says...10 minutes. Assuming whatever walking speed Google uses to calculate time versus distance.” As he spoke the words, a heavy weight fell down on his shoulders. It smelled warm. Did warm have a smell? Comfort definitely did, and this was definitely comfort coating him right now. “But you'll be cold-”

 

“I've been colder.” If Peter's face was pale before, it lost most of the rest of its color in that moment, aside from the red the cold had etched into his nose and cheeks. “What I mean is...I'll be ok. It's not nearly as cold as the deep forests of the German mountains-”

 

“Or the arctic,” Peter whispered.

 

“No, but I don't actually remember any of that. I don't plan on visiting anytime soon, or ever, but out of all the things I've experienced, being a human popsicle isn't one that bothers me.”

 

“What, the Capsicle jokes haven't gotten to you?”

 

“Oh, those are annoying. But there are worse things in this world.”

 

“You haven't seen the memes, have you?”

 

“Please tell me it's a bad ice cream face on a stick, like that yellow sponge character?”

 

“No, no its not like Spongebob ice cream. Uhhmm...It is, uhm, a picture, usually. And then a whole bunch of people will usually put all kinds of different captions over it. It's usually supposed to be a joke, but sometimes they're mean or used to try to make points. But usually they're supposed to just be fun. And Capsicle is a favorite, especially around this time of year. Because, well, its cold. And-”

 

“I think I get it. I will make sure to never look that up.”

 

“That's probably a good idea.”

 

“Are you feeling warmer?”

 

“Yeah.” Peter tucked his hands into the coat's pockets. Steve definitely wasn't about to take it back, so he decided to take advantage of the gift he'd been given. “This is a really nice coat.”

 

“You can keep that one, then. I have...too many. And you seem to be lacking in that department.”

 

“Coats are expensive.” Ben and May had good jobs, and in most other places their salaries here would have been pretty adequate, but this was New York. They'd always been able to get the things they'd needed, but they didn't have room for most luxuries. Especially with Peter's medical bills. Not that they'd have had to worry about that anymore. But the only reason Peter didn't have those issues was because of what had happened, so... “So I just have this one.”

 

“I'm sorry I didn't think about these things.”

 

“It's fine, I didn't ask.”

 

“You shouldn't have to. I'm going to try to figure out what other things we aren't thinking of so we can fill in any gaps.”

 

“Just don't go reading any dumb parenting books. All those cheesy 'so your kid is a teen now' books are awful and seem to think that kids are about to mutate into freaky angry monsters.”

 

“Well, teenage hormones are not fun for anyone. That...sounded like a cheesy educational video. Sorry. They had me making health PSAs for schools last week. And they are...awful. They're awful.”

 

“I'm sure I'll see them-” Steve's phone started ringing. It was the standard ringtone that the phone came pre-set with “-soon?”

 

“...It's-Tony, where are you what happened are you ok-” A weight immediately lifted itself off of Peter's chest.

 

Peter could hear the man on the other end of the call, and he sounded exhausted as he cut Steve off with a 'You do know how phones work, right? We're fine. We, uh, need somewhere to crash. So we're heading up to New York.'

 

“How soon?”

 

“Well. None of my planes are here, and apparently Enterprise will not pick you up at midnight, not around here-”

 

“You're not flying in?”

 

“Have you seen the news? That was all of my suits. Every single one of them. Boom. Gone...As soon as we arrange for transportation, we'll be...on our way. The slow way. Ugh.”

 

“We'll have some dinner ready for you...how many people?”

 

“Three. Me, Pepper, and Rhodey. Please don't ask questions right now.”

 

“...Uhm, I do have one question.”

 

“Ugh. What?”

 

“What do you want for dinner.”

 

“...Cheeseburgers.”

 

“Cheeseburgers?”

 

“We've got the stuff at home,” Peter confirmed for him.

 

“We can do that.”

 

“Good. See you...eventually.”

 

“So, we're not getting gyros?” Peter asked.

 

“No, _we_ still are. Then we'll go home and get some burgers ready for when they get here. Whenever that is.”

 

“That's a good plan. Because I am _really_ hungry now.”

 

“Me too.”

 

'Whenever' turned out to be close to 4 in the morning, by car. Military car. Borrowed, of course. Apparently the guy Mr. Stark called Rhodey was actually Colonel Rhodes, aka War Machine, and he'd figured something out for them and would be returning the vehicle after they'd all had a chance to rest.

 

Mr. Stark had barely given them a 'How can you stand this snow?' before vanishing into his room with Ms. Potts and two of the cheeseburgers, re-warmed. Ms. Potts had slipped out of his room an hour later to tell everyone that he was 'finally sleeping.' Colonel Rhodes seemed very worried about her, too, but Peter quickly volunteered to make hot cocoa, and she accepted with a smile, which seemed to ease the Colonel's mood a little, though the sight of Dr. Banner wandering down the stairs, woken by all the noise, tensed the man right up again.

 

“Can we get some coffee?” Rhodes asked.

 

“Yeah, I'll make both.”

 

“I'm so glad he's finally sleeping,” Pepper sighed as she sunk to the couch.

 

“At least someone is.” Steve's eyes turned towards the kitchen. Now that the stress of the day was over, he had to focus on being a parent again. It was well past a reasonable hour for the kid to get to bed, especially after the stress of the day before. “Pete's been worried.”

 

“He's such a cute kid. He's just like...”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah. A small you.”

 

“I'm pretty sure he's already taller than I was when I turned 18. So he's definitely doing better than I was.”

 

“There's no way you were _that_ short.”

 

“I'm pretty sure I was.”

 

“Is it safe to be here right now?” Rhodey asked. “I mean, sorry, no offense-”

 

“None taken,” Dr. Banner replied.

 

“But...the kid could get hurt. I'd feel bad enough if my friends got hurt, but _a kid_.”

 

“I promise I won't explode,” Pepper told them.

 

“...explode?” Steve managed to get out.

 

“Yeah. The, uh, terrorists who weren't really terrorists were actually mad scientists who were doing experiments on disabled soldiers. And kidnapped victims. But Tony said I'm stable for now, as long as I don't get angry.” She let out a little laugh as Dr. Banner chuckled.

 

“We can meditate together then,” he offered.

 

“I think I'll take you up on that...tomorrow. After I've gotten some sleep. It's been a long day...two days now, I guess. I haven't slept since. Since the, uhm. The. The attack. You know. And the weirdest thing is, I want to sleep, right now. I could just lay down on the floor and sleep. But I can't? Because I can't...I can't control my dreams, so what if I accidentally. I mean. I just. Maybe Rhodey's right. I should probably go to the tower. It is designed to handle, well, disasters.”

 

“Hulks,” Dr. Banner said at the same time. “And I could start researching a cure.”

 

“That's a good idea,” Rhodey said. “I like that idea.”

 

“You have to explain it to Tony when he wakes up then,” Steve told him.

 

“Technically, I outrank you, so I could order you to do it.”

 

“Technically, I'm retired from the army.”

 

“ _Technically_ you were discharged for not being alive anymore. You could be re-instated, if you wanted to be.”

 

“Ok, boys,” Pepper chided as Peter slipped back in with her hot chocolate.

 

“Coffee will be a few more minutes.”

 

“Pete, I'll handle the coffee. You can go to bed.”

 

“I'm not-” he started, but a yawn forced its way through.

 

“I know, it's going to be a rough night. But try to get some sleep. You need rest. Once everyone is settled, I'm going to bed, too. All our problems will still be here in the morning.”

 

Peter lingered for a moment, glancing over the adults. Steve knew it had to be hard, knowing he couldn't do much but wanting to be able to. He barely had much more to offer them, either. But that was how things were.

 

He reached out to give the teen a quick hug before nudging him along. Thankfully, the kid listened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who wanted a peppermint aversion, tis peppermint season! And the thermoregulation - based on all iterations of Spider-Man, he can clearly function in the cold in what looks to be a pretty thin suit (and most versions don't usually have built-in heaters in their suits), but I've decided to have him just be more hypersensitive to the cold as a compromise. And to anyone who wondered where everyone else was during Iron Man 3, well...in this story at least, they were all on missions from SHIELD (or, in Bruce's case, they were the mission...well, and Thor is still offworld; he'll join us eventually).
> 
> And the fun historical fact of the day: Before the 1960s, the most common banana (in America, at least) was a completely different banana (called the Gros Michel) than the one that we eat today (the Cavendish). Apparently, banana candies taste the way they do because that's how the Gros Michel bananas tasted. Due to bad breeding practices (aka: they cloned the bananas and so the bananas didn't have enough genetic diversity), a blight hit and made the entire breed go extinct. And now we have the bananas we have today. BUT, no one actually learned their lessons because the same thing is happening now and modern bananas (the Cavendish as well as other breeds local to areas where banana trees grow naturally) are also facing possible extinction for the same reason.


	17. Chapter 16

****Peter wasn’t sure if Mr. Stark was just visiting, if he was moving in long term, or if this was something in-between. His primary residence was kind of non-existent these days, so he had to live somewhere else. Even the edge of the cliff it had once been on was in the ocean now. But he also had several houses, and penthouses, all over the world he could choose from.

 

Not that Peter was upset about their guests. He understood why Mr. Stark was staying here – those other houses were empty, and quite far away, too. Here he had his friends all around him. Even though he'd refused their help before. He'd decided he needed them now, so here he was, surrounded by them. He couldn't be bothered to reach out to the people who could easily help him not get hurt in the first place when he was in danger, but now that he was safe, now he was ok with letting them help him.

 

But his presence was serving as a never-ending reminder that Peter was only here under this man's good graces. Just when he was starting to feel at home, suddenly the penthouse became a fancy hotel to him again. It was someone else’s place that he was just staying in.

 

Which, that was the case, technically. That was the definition of renting. But landlords also usually didn't live with their tenants.

 

No one was about to pull the ‘this is inappropriate behavior for a landlord’ card on him right now, though. Not after he’d just saved America from…something. Based on the conversations Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be overhearing, the problem wasn’t the kind of terrorists that everyone had thought they were, but some sort of born-in-America kind of terrorists that for some reason had the goal of killing the president just before Christmas. Whatever their ultimate goal had been, their plan had been very thoroughly ended by Iron Man and War Machine.

 

Still, despite the whole ‘nothing to worry about anymore’ speech, Mr. Stark seemed more anxious than ever, and whenever the Avengers were anxious Peter couldn’t help himself. He had to be anxious too. If something scared the Avengers, then it had to definitely be something really scary.

 

The first night, Mr. Stark had slept for 16 hours straight. When he finally woke up, he had briefly fought with Steve before storming off to Avenger's tower. That had been a somewhat peaceful day. Despite his lack of sleep, he hadn't felt this exhausted since...well, the thing he didn't spend too much time thinking about. So he just played video games all day. He hadn't done that in months, either.

 

Ms. Potts had dragged Mr. Stark back to the apartment sometime around midnight. Apparently, the only way he would leave the tower (and therefore actually go to sleep at some point) was if she came with him. So she did. Because even though his only visible injuries seemed to be some ugly bruises, there was definitely damage, physical and otherwise, deeper inside.

 

Peter liked her. He really did. She was nice, and chill, and patient. Somehow, despite what had happened, she seemed to be as put together as Steve was. Moreso, really. Steve had even let himself sleep in, too, but she was no-nonsense, already back to work. She hadn't even done that last time she visited. But then, last time she visited they also hadn't just been all over international news for several days on end, so Peter wasn't surprised how much time she was spending on the phone. Mr. Stark didn't like it, but she insisted that getting all the business stuff in line was relaxing, because she couldn't relax until it was all taken care of.

 

None of that bothered Peter. But...she also seemed to really, really, _really_ like peppermint. She had a peppermint lotion and used peppermint syrup in her coffee and Peter had never noticed before but he absolutely hated peppermint. It made him nauseous. So even though she was fantastic, he couldn't be around her for too long.

 

Between the anxiety Mr. Stark was giving all of them and the overwhelming smell of Ms. Pott's favorite holiday scent, the apartment had turned from a place of comfort to a place that Peter needed to escape. Immediately. Thankfully, he’d already promised Ned they’d do something during winter break, so all he had to do was reach out to his friend. And Ned had decided an Avenger's exhibit followed by finally finishing Yoda was the perfect way to spend their day. Peter was not going to complain, despite the gnawing mess of emotions screaming at him for continuing to lie about something so simple as who his family was.

 

“Ned would kill me if he knew what I haven’t been telling him,” he mumbled to himself as he hurried through breakfast.

 

“Who's Ned?” Ms. Potts asked, making him jump. She'd slipped back into the kitchen while he wasn't paying attention – her morning had been spent trying to get Mr. Stark to eat some breakfast, but, given the plate of food in her hand, she'd clearly been unsuccessful.

 

“Best friend,” Steve explained as he grabbed the food from her hand. “I keep hoping I'll get to meet him one of these days,” he teased playfully before vanishing back towards the lab.

 

“You still haven't told him about your family, huh?” Dr. Banner asked as he politely poured Ms. Potts some coffee, which she quickly accepted. Her pale cheeks and dark eyes were all Peter needed to see. He recognized that look. That was a look of someone who wasn't keen on the idea of sleeping. He usually had that look himself over the last few months.

 

“I know, I know, he’s my best friend, I should tell him. Especially since it could affect him. I _know_. But…These last few months I've felt like...not a freak, but, just...a sideshow, and I’ve just started feeling normal again. It’s been a pretty nice change of pace. It's been nice for everything to just be...normal. Don't you ever feel like that?”

 

“…All the time.” Peter didn't notice the sadness that bit at the edges of Dr. Banner's voice.

 

“I was thinking, maybe as a Christmas present, I could tell him, since what's cooler than meeting Avengers? But, I don’t know how he’ll take it. I don't think he'll be mad? Because it's so cool. But...it's been months now.”

 

“And time is only going to keep passing,” Ms. Potts reminded him. “If you're worried about him being mad about how long you've kept it secret, then you should probably tell him sooner rather than later.” They all paused as they heard Jarvis chastises Steve for almost breaking a door. “ _Tony_ -”

 

“He always has to do things the hard way,” Dr. Banner interrupted. “Let Steve handle this one. It's not like they can't afford a new door if they need to do it that way.”

 

“...You're right. You are right. Let the boys be boys. Well, those boys. Peter, be better than those children in the other room.”

 

“I'll...try, ma'am,” he replied.

 

“Please call me Pepper. Ma'am is way too old and Ms. Potts is too formal.”

 

“Yes...Pepper.” It was so strange, referring to someone so important by their first name. Well, he supposed he did call Captain America 'Steve.' But Steve was family, and he truly didn't feel inferior to his cousin. Pepper...was much more accessible than Mr. Stark, but she was still a super-multi-millionaire and easily one of the most important business people on the planet.

 

Peter glanced at the clock, realizing how late it was getting, and quickly excused himself. Though, as he was getting his coats on, layering his usual, thinner one underneath and the heavier one Steve had given him on top, he did overhear Dr. Banner and Pepper discussing breathing exercises, and ways to minimize dreaming while sleeping.

 

His own nightmares still woke him from time to time, but if he stayed up late enough then the sleep he did get was fairly dreamless, or, sometimes, he even had good dreams. But then that feeling of betraying Ben and May would creep up again and he'd be back to having nightmares. At least he was able to sleep through them now. He knew that if he kept working and training and learning that someday he would be better than those nightmares, one day. He wasn't going to lose anyone else. He wasn't going to fail his family.

 

“Hey,” he greeted when his phone rang. “Yeah, I'll be there in a few. Just heading out now. Are you already in line?”

 

On the other side of the apartment, the lab door finally swung open. “Geeze, I think you actually did break it,” Tony complained. “I'm not hungry.”

 

“You haven't eaten in almost 24 hours. You're going to eat whether you're hungry or not.”

 

“...Well ok then, Captain Grandpa.” Steve started to set the plate down on what he assumed was a table. As with most things that could be found in Tony's vicinity, he really should've known better than to assume. “Hey hey no. Give.” Tony took the plate and waved his hand over the surface. “I don't want to find out what will happen if something sticky gets on this.” One of Tony's displays popped up above the 'table.' “Couldn't you have made a sandwich or something instead?”

 

“Pepper made that.”

 

“...Well, in that case. Can you tell her thank you for me?” Steve just crossed his arms. “Are you serious? _Fine_.” The billionaire sat down on one of his stools and started by eating his jelly covered toast. “Happy?”

 

“Tony, are you ok?”

 

“I'm fine. Just busy being an average human without nifty healing powers – you don't have some to spare, do you?”

 

“I would if I could.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, America's Eagle Scout-”

 

“Never quite made it that high.”

 

“If you ask, they'll make you one. You've more than earned it.”

 

“Do we need to call you a doctor?” Steve wasn't going to let his friend deflect, and he'd long since learned the signs of a conversation that was about to go off the rails.

 

“What? No. I'm fine.”

 

“Are you?”

 

“Yep. Better than ever. I've got new nightmares that aren't nearly as bad as my old ones, so that's an improvement. Pepper is a human bomb, though...which, really, is just a great turn of events. Really. For the first time in my life I actually think I might be interested in spending the rest of it with one person and I go and get her turned into an actual living bomb. But I can totally fix it. I'm going to fix it.” His eyes turned back to the displays.

 

“Bruce said you're pretty close.”

 

“We just need something to test it on, and for some reason I forgot to make sure they included plants when decorating this place.”

 

“That was probably for the best. Pete and I tried having a fern but...it didn't make it. I'm too busy and he's really forgetful. Er, well, he forgets things that don't interest him.”

 

“He just has more important things to think about. Inventions to build, universe secrets to discover. Who has time for remembering to water plants when you have...whatever it is he's been up to to do instead. What has he been up to?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“ _You_ don't know?”

 

“I'm trying to let him have some privacy.”

 

“That's a bad idea. Well, I guess it's also a good idea. This way, you'll never find out what kind of porn he likes-”

 

“Tony!” As the scold passed from Steve's lips, he realized Tony had successfully derailed the conversation.

 

“What? He's thirteen. He definitely knows about porn. How's he doing on his lessons?”

 

“He's been working on other projects. I think he finished them.”

 

There was a heavy pause that hung over them. It was just for a moment, but Steve knew from its weight that he had surprised the man. “Finished? Jarvis, is that true?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis confirmed.

 

“Really. Huh. Weren't you supposed to be keeping him on training wheels?”

 

“Would you have accepted training wheels?” Steve asked.

 

“…So what’s he building? Do I need to add more safety features?”

 

“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s a toy, or, well, a costume, I think is the better term. He was talking to his friend about something called ‘cosplay,’ for that, er, D-and-D game that he plays. Which seems to be what people call dressing up as people or characters they like?”

 

“That pretty much sums it up. Have you seen what he's working on?”

 

“No, but I know he’d show you if you asked.”

 

“Ahhh. So that’s how it is. You’re asking me to do you another favor.”

 

“Yes, Tony. I’m asking you for a favor.”

 

“You’re sneakier than you look.” Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the amusement on Tony’s face. He just loved poking at the things that shattered the perfectly crafted history book tale of Captain America and finding the human underneath. “Next time, just ask.”

 

“I didn’t realize that was an option.”

 

“What? We’re friends, right? You know how much I like to make my friends happy.”

 

“Usually that seems to mean parties and…ladies.” Sometimes it seemed that now that Tony was trying to settle down and be monogamous, he had found another outlet for his playboy behavior: promising the girls he’d see if Captain America was available. Well, he'd tried promising Hawkeye, once. But Clint hadn't let that one fly. Tony didn't know why, and Steve wasn't about to explain. That wasn't his secret to tell.

 

But Captain America was definitely not available, either. At least, not for Tony’s former entourage. He’d only been duped into a date once before he learned not to be so trusting of ‘hey, I want you to meet a friend of mine.’

 

Tony huffed in fake indignation. “If you’d prefer I find you men, I have a few recommendations in that department, too.”

 

“I’d prefer to find my own dates.”

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Fine.” Tony tried to put his food down on his other stool, having barely touched the ends of the omelet, but the glare from Steve sent him scurrying to the kitchen. “I need to heat it up.”

 

“You _are_ eating breakfast today.”

 

“I will! But it's cold.”

 

“Ok.”

 

Steve didn't believe the man.

 

In the time it took Steve to get Tony to eat his breakfast, Peter made quick work of the distance between him and Ned. He'd learned a lot of shortcuts in these neighborhoods over the last few months, and, as long as he kept his face covered, he had his own way to make those shortcuts even shorter. He leaped across the rooftops with a practiced ease as his phone buzzed with text messages – complaints about the length of the line, last he'd checked.

 

He still paused when it came time to drop back down to the ground. Even if he would most likely land on his feet, he still wasn't keen on the feeling of falling from heights higher than four stories up. Past that point, his stomach would still depart from his gut at the moment he expected to land, only for his body to not actually land for another second (or more). That sensation still left him shaking, every time.

 

And he didn't want to have to explain that, so he carefully slid his body down over the edge, letting his fingers and toes hold the weight of his body as he carefully crawled his way down the wall.

 

A shout caught his attention as his feet touched the ground. He peeked around the corner to find two people arguing over a fender bender. The larger man shoved the smaller man while the larger man's girlfriend shouted for him to knock it off.

 

“Woah, hey there,” he called out, jogging over. Thank goodness for his mask. “No need for violence here.”

 

“Mind your own business,” the angry man said, but Peter put himself between the two of them.

 

“Just take a minute, take a deeeeep breath-” He tried his best to sound as confident as Dr. Banner.

 

“I said, butt out!” the guy yelled, trying to give Peter a push, but the kid stood firm. “What the.”

 

“See, I can't do that. Because you're being very violent and you really don't need to be...Come on, I know you don't want me to call the cops. The cops around here can be real jerks.” Peter had also learned that lesson. He'd called the cops on a simple issue and, well, they'd been jerks about it. Not to him, but to the unfortunate victim of the criminal. He'd learned he had to be more careful what situations he called them for. This one _might_ be a safe one, but he didn't want to find out. “It sucks that your car is damaged, but you don't need to hurt anyone over it. It's just a car. It can be fixed.”

 

“You payin' for it?”

 

“Er, no, I...do not have that kind of money. I think.” He still hadn't had a talk with Steve about allowances. Things had worked out fairly well – the Captain always gave him $20.00 bucks for D&D weeks, which he was always stingy to actually use so he could squirrel most of it away. It definitely wouldn't repair a car though. “But it's still an object. Which is different from a person, who can't be so easily repaired.” That sounded cheesy. But it seemed to work. At the very least the grumpy guy was getting annoyed enough to step back. “Just talk it out like people, ok?”

 

“I think I've got this from here,” the girlfriend told him. “Thanks, Kid.”

 

“It's, uh, Spider-man?”

 

“...yeah, ok.” At least the big guy thought it was funny, given the way he chuckled at the name. Happiness was usually a useful component to frustrating situations. Still, Peter felt his face flush all the same. Some days it seemed like people were never going to take him seriously, even if his strength kept surprising them.

 

“You guys gonna play nice now?”

 

“Aren't you going to be late to Comic Con?” the big guy said, but there was no bite to his bark anymore.

 

Peter backed away, but lingered long enough for the guys to start talking. Apparently the smaller guy had gotten really bad news that morning, he hadn't meant to hit the other guy's car. And he had good insurance.

 

The last thing Peter heard as he jogged off towards the museum was apologies. Now that was something that was always good to hear. He yanked his mask off before he reached a main road. The cold immediately bit his nose, so he zipped up Steve's giant coat and tucked his face down in. Ned didn't realize it was him when he finally arrived. “Hey!” he called out, but his friend didn't glance up from his phone. “NED!”

 

“Huh? Oh, hey – woah, that is a big coat.”

 

“I'll grow into it.”

 

“So, do you think they’ll have alien bits? Like, an arm or a leg…or an eye? That’d be so cool. An alien eye. I wonder what alien eyes even look like.”

 

“Thor’s eyes are just like our eyes,” Peter pointed out.

 

“Yeah, ok, but his eyes are still eyes from space. So still cool.”

 

The museum was opening at 10, so technically the two weren’t late to be arriving around 9:45, but neither of them had accounted for the lines until Ned had arrived to find it was already a block long. Everyone, from regular New Yorkers to all the Christmas and waiting-for-New-Years tourists, wanted to see the Avengers special. There was even a large group of ‘true believers’ coming to see what they could see on aliens, wearing shirts that proudly stated ‘We Were Right.’ Which, they were. At least partially, considering no one had done any special probing. Though some of them were declaring that they were absolutely _certain_ that was Loki’s goal. Peter didn’t tell them that he seemed more the ‘I want to own this world’ type.

 

It took over half an hour to get inside, but once they did, it certainly lived up to every possible expectation. There were individual rooms for most of the major players of the attack, including the bad guys. Loki's information got spaced between the bad aliens room and Thor's room, which made sense, since he was from the same place (and mythology) as Thor, but also wasn't a good guy. So 'historical information' got grouped with Thor while 'invasion' information got grouped with, well, the invasion.

 

“Where's the Hulk room?” Ned groaned as he thumbed through the pamphlet when they finally got inside.

 

“There isn't one,” Peter told him, passing him a map.

 

“WHY. He's literally the coolest, and...y'know, if anyone knows where he is, you'd think it'd be whoever set this up.”

 

“Mr. Stark's funds set this up.”

 

“And Iron Man probably knows where Hulk is!”

 

“Hulk is in the big room,” a tour guide offered helpfully.

 

“What?”

 

“The life-sized recreation of the Hulk is in the big room, straight ahead.”

 

“Yeeeeeeesss! Let's go Peter!” Ned grabbed Peter's sleeve and yanked his smaller friend along. Peter could've stopped him, but why would he? He kinda wanted to see it, too. “Oh my god oh my god look at it!” There were people lining up just to get a picture for it. Peter realized far too late that they were themselves in that very line. “Do you really think he's an alien? I mean, what else could he be if he's not an alien? Some kind of mutated animal? But he looks so...well, more human than animal.”

 

“I don't know, Ned. I've never met him. But if I do I'll be sure to ask.” The room was drowning in full Avenger glory. Behind Hulk, there was a banner with the entire team on it and a giant A at the center. “Did they have to pose for that or do they just have a really good photoshopper?”

 

“They totally posed for that. Look at it! You can almost see Hawkeye's scowl.”

 

“I don't think I've ever seen him scowl,” Peter said absently. He hadn't. Even when Mr. Barton was irritated with his wandering mind, the man had a gently stern look in his eyes, not a scowl.

 

“What? He's like, always scowling.”

 

Was he? Maybe that was what his sharp look translated as to others.

 

As the pair made their way around the museum, Peter realized he wasn't enjoying himself as much as he thought he would. Aside from the rooms about aliens (including Thor's room), none of the information here was new.

 

Some of the artifacts were pretty cool. They'd found pieces of Mr. Stark's original suit, and they had the prototypes to Steve's shield up on a wall, damage from the testing stages and all. And some of them had a lot of damage. That was really cool, to think that Mr. Stark – the elder, not Iron Man – sometimes had to go through several tries before he reached a breakthrough. Which meant that Mr. Stark – the Iron Man one – probably did similar sometimes, even though everything he did looked so effortless. That meant that maybe Peter could still dream of being as great as him someday. His failure to figure out his webshooters after almost three months wasn't a sign that he was a failure overall.

 

Other than that, mostly Peter noticed an absence of more human information...no, it was more of an absence of humanity in general. They were treated like, well, heroes. Untouchable, one step short of being pure magic. The mythological pantheon for a modern age.

 

But they weren't people.

 

Which...Peter would be a hypocrite if he tried to say he hadn't treated them the same. Before he'd seen the worry in Steve's eyes outside Ms. Yamada's apartment. Or watched Mr. Stark crash after not sleeping for several days straight because he just couldn't sleep because of the nightmares he'd developed from the alien invasion, which this very exhibit was glorifying for everyone to see.

 

And none of them even knew about Dr. Banner.

 

Peter realized he'd seen the cracks in these modern gods. He'd seen their humanity. A side of them that no one else got to see, that no one really wanted to see.

 

And...he loved them so much more for it.

 

“I'm going to be an Avenger,” he affirmed to himself.

 

“Yeah, ok,” Ned replied. Peter flushed. He'd let his mind wander so far he'd forgotten that he wasn't alone.

 

“I mean, I'm going to try. You know. How, uh, Mr. Stark built a suit-”

 

“In a cave, while hostage and with his heart like literally broken, from the scraps he managed to scrounge up. Yeah. Everyone knows the story.”

 

“No, no I mean, he's just a normal guy. But he's really super smart, and he used those smarts to become a hero. That's...what I'm going to do.” Mostly. But he also had the super strength of Captain America, which didn't hurt things.

 

“Tony is also like the richest guy on the planet...why do you keep calling him Mr. Stark, anyway? That's so weird.”

 

“I, uh, well, you know, he's a professional. It's kinda rude to just...go by his first name, isn't it? Like, if you were to, y'know, meet him, say...today, or something. What would _you_ call him to his face?”

 

“...Mr. Iron Man.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Ok, but that's not going to happen. Unless your cousin is also friends with the freaking Avengers.”

 

 _My cousin is an Avenger._ Peter wanted to say it, but he didn't.

 

Ned stopped to take some pictures, so Peter paused to text said cousin _If I were to bring Ned over...would it be ok?_

 

The reply wasn't instantaneous. Peter took a deep breath and turned his eyes to the map. They'd already passed through every room, and Ned was gearing up for a second pass. “Maybe we should just look in the kid's section,” Peter suggested, to try to buy more time. “Just to see if there's anything new.”

 

“They're just doing baby science experiments and arts and crafts,” Ned said, waving his hand. “Oh look, for thirty dollars you can attach a light to a glove and be just like Iron Man.”

 

“I built a better one for six bucks.”

 

“See? No point.”

 

“I dunno, it's nice seeing the kids playing around with science. Did you ever get to do stuff like this in Hawaii?”

 

“At school, sometimes. At museums, no. We didn't have anything this cool on Kaua'i. Well, unless you want to count down the ten weirdest tourists I've ever seen. Because they can get _really_ weird.”

 

“Worse than New York tourists?”

 

“ _Yes_. Seriously, you have got to come visit sometime, you'll see. Though my grandma will probably spoil you. She actually asked me to meet you the last time we talked. Apparently I need to get a life outside of Peter Parker. It's not healthy when the only thing your grandma knows about you is who your best friend is.”

 

Peter's heart seized without his permission. Ned's grandma wanted to meet him, and here he couldn't even tell Ned who his cousin was. Well, he could, but he was being a coward about it. Well, not entirely a coward. Ned was kind of loud. But that wasn't a good enough excuse. All Peter's life, up until last summer, he'd never really had a best friend. He had people he talked to, people he got along with, and there were plenty of people at gaming cafes that he could play games with. But he'd realized that a best friend was more than just someone to talk to.

 

Ned was the only person at school who'd always treated him like a person. And here he was, being the worst friend ever and shunting the guy aside every chance he got. He was even late showing up today!

 

Sure, they still had (now very abbreviated) D&D sessions, but he was barely even paying attention at those, his eyes always skittering out the front window of their chosen gaming cafe to scan the streets. Because he wanted to do something, because he wanted to practice, because he wanted to be good at something that could save the world. Because he didn't want another Oscorp Incident to happen. Not in his city.

 

But he wasn't spending all of his time practicing being Spider-Man. He still had bi-monthly Chemistry lessons with Dr. Banner, and...well, he'd finished Mr. Stark's engineering lessons, but he was sure Jarvis could whip them up something new to do. And Ned was good with tech stuff, too. More of a programmer than a hands on kind of guy, but he was really good at what he did.

 

“You ok bro?” Ned's voice cut through to him. “You're zoning out again. That's like the millionth time this morning.”

 

“Sorry. I. Uhm, actually, I was just thinking...so, you know how you said you were interested in doing those engineering lessons with me?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“What if...I told you...that, uh...”

 

“Dude, please do _not_ reschedule _again_. Seriously?”

 

“What? No! No, That's not it. Uhm. What if...what if I told you that...er. The lessons...were...” The video screen in front of them looped again, back to Iron Man flying up into the literal hole in the sky, sending the nuke to decimate the alien army on the other side. Almost dying seemed to be his thing. Thor probably could've done something about that nuke. He didn't have to almost get trapped on the other side of the hole. But, no. He'd done it anyway. Without even thinking about how it might upset the people he left behind.

 

“What, do you think I can't handle them?”

 

“I think anyone could handle them. They were really basic. But it's not how hard they are, it's...who made them?” He looked back at the video again. Ned's eyes followed after his.

 

“...Dude. Your cousin is _not_ Iron Man.”

 

“Uhm...”

 

“...Peter.”

 

“No! Mr. Stark is not my cousin.”

 

“...Does your cousin know _Mr. Stark_?” Peter glanced down at his phone. Still no reply. Ned grabbed onto his shoulders and started shaking him. “Tell me, please tell me-”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_. Have you met him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh my _god._ ”

 

“Ned, you can't tell anyone. Not a soul. No one can know.”

 

“You've met Tony Stark and you don't want anyone to know? Pete! I'd be shouting it from every rooftop in the city!”

 

“Yeah but we can't do that, because...I'm kind of a liability. Like, if people find out my cousin has a scrawny little kid cousin, they might try to target me to get to him. And he cares about me way too much to let that happen. Like, if the aliens were to come back and it came down to saving me or New York, I think he'd save me first, even if that meant New York might not make it. That kind of attached. That kind of liability.”

 

“...Who the hell is your cousin?”

 

Peter's phone buzzed in his hand and Ned leaned over to read the texts with him. “Why don't we go meet him?” A moment later, it buzzed again. “We need to pick up some pizzas first.”

 

“ _Eight-_ ” Ned started, but his fingers dug down into Peter's arm as he remembered the cousin's name. “Oh. My. God.”

 

“SHH! Don't say it.”

 

“But. Peter.”

 

“Don't.”

 

“But. _Peter_.”

 

“No one can know.”

 

“Because bad guys might kidnap you.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“I _know_.” _Oh and also I have spider powers and can literally walk on ceilings and pick up cars. No big deal._

 

“I think. I think I might be willing to accept this as my Christmas present.”

 

“Oh, good, because I wasn't sure how to ask Steve for more money. It feels so wrong.”

 

“...You call him Steve. _Steve_.”

 

“That's his name.” Peter could feel his fingers starting to tingle. “Ned, can you-” No, it wasn't his fingers. It was his whole body tingle. He turned, looking around the room. Nothing seemed out of place. No one was even looking at them.

 

Quickly, he glanced up to the ceiling.

 

Nothing.

 

“Let's go get those pizzas,” Ned insisted.

 

“...Yeah. Ok. Let's do that.”

 

“You were seriously about to zone out again, weren't you? Er, well, I guess I understand why now. Everyone is saying Iron Man got hurt really bad, is that true?”

 

“Shhhh. Not. Here.”

 

“Right. Right right right. I can be cool. To Joe's Pizza Shack!...He's not dying, right?”

 

“ _Ned_.”

 

Back at the penthouse, Bruce had excused himself for meditation, and for meditation lessons for Pepper, much to Tony's irritation. Steve tried to keep his friend company, but Tony was the sort of person who was best experienced in doses, and he'd already been in the penthouse for over 24 hours straight.

 

He was busying himself by fussing with Steve's phone, trying to improve it, since Steve refused to upgrade to a 'proper' phone.

 

Steve wasn't a fan of the smartphones. He could use them just fine, he just didn't like them. So he had something called a 'Blackberry.' And Tony was...not happy about that. Just as long as Tony didn't take away his keyboard and put it on the screen instead, Steve really didn't care what he did with the device itself.

 

Thankfully, while Tony was busy trying to figure out what he could do to upgrade a, as he put it, 'useless brick,' Steve busied himself learning. He was always a fast learner, even before he was selected for the program. But he might as well have woken up on an alien planet for all the things he had to learn. So when he had opportunities like this – where he was left alone with a technology expert – he took full advantage of them to ask all the questions he had.

 

Tony didn't seem to mind having Captain America poking through his files or playing around on his computers. In fact, he seemed to quite enjoy it. Especially when Steve made a mistake. Steve suspected he liked having evidence that Captain America was human. Even though they'd had a whole year and a half to establish that, he'd had the whole rest of his lifetime to hear mythological tales of the most perfect man who'd ever existed (according to what Steve had seen of history textbooks and museums and documentaries about him).

 

Really, it was a perfect pastime for both of them.

 

“Tony?”

 

“Hm?”

  
“What's this.”

 

Tony's eyes tilted up, and Steve watched as he went pale. “Nothing.” The man swiped it away. “For a grandpa, you sure do act like a toddler sometimes.”

 

“Don't-”

 

“Wasn't that in a folder marked 'Private'?”

 

“No.”

 

“...Oh...would you have opened it if it was?”

 

“No.”

 

“I'll remember that for next time. Or, now that you know I know you wouldn't do that, would you next time?”

 

“Tony. What are you planning.”

 

“It's personal.”

 

“...you really don't want to tell me?” When Tony turned back to the phone without a reply, Steve tried a more direct approach. “That looked medical. Are you ok?”

 

“I'm fine. As fine as you can be with, y'know.” He tapped the metal circle in his chest. “This has enough power to keep me going for ten lifetimes. But. It's not perfect. There's still a danger. And all it takes is one moment, one bad guy clever enough to dig it out...or anything. And I'd have, what, maybe ten minutes? Fifteen? To fix it? And that's assuming in the meantime one of the, ah, tiny little knives floating around in there don't make it to my heart first. They used to say the pieces were too small, there was nothing they could do.”

 

“Used to?”

 

“That's the beauty of technology. It's always changing, always improving. Whether you embrace it, like I do, or like to stick yourself in the mud, like you. Technology will keep improving.” Tony started putting the phone back together.

 

“So, you found a doctor who can fix you?”

 

“Maybe. Apparently, the shrapnel is the easy part. Even making sure my heart is functional on its own is easy, in comparison. But to make this system work, they, uhm, made some alterations. Fixing the bones and muscles would have been unheard of. I shouldn’t be able to move my arms, but Yinsing was a genius. But he died. So he can’t fix me now. But I found this doctor, Dr. Helen Cho. She’s working on some experimental stuff – printing living tissue. Literally replacing missing body parts. Never been tried on humans. That’s not the scary part. The scary part is…what if it doesn’t work?”

 

“…Well, you’ll still have us. We-“

 

“You’ll take care of me, power of friendship, blah blah blah. I’d rather live a shorter life with a hole in my chest then never be able to build things or even make myself a sandwich again.”

 

“…Yeah.” The captain sat down on a stool, trying not to let his eyes glaze over as he looked at the science in front of him. “Have you had Bruce take a look at it?”

 

“He thinks it looks like sound science but he also thought the science he was working on was sound and then one day he was blacking out and our green smasher was causing havoc…” Tony took a deep breath. “I trust him on this. I’m going to do it. I’m just…”

 

“Scared.”

 

“Yeah. See? This is why I didn’t look into this sooner. Look at this.” He pointed at scans that Steve realized were of Tony’s chest. “How did I survive that? In a _cave_!”

 

“Dr. Yinsen was really good at what he did.”

 

“And he’s dead now. The world needs someone like him, but he died. I couldn’t-“

 

“Tony. Don’t go down that road. The world needs you, too.”

 

“Does it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Tony’s head turned, his eyes boring into Steve’s, searching for even the smallest hint that his teammate doubted that assertion. When he found none, he let out a deep sigh. “Since I’ll be the first human test, she doesn’t know what the recovery time will be like. She doesn’t know how many appointments I’ll need. She has a guess, but she doesn’t want to stay too hard-set on anything. And, in the meantime, I’m…going to need…” Another sigh. “Help.”

 

Now that the phone was back in one piece, Tony turned it back on to double-check that his updates worked.

 

“Should I tell the team?”

 

“No!”

 

“Fury then.”

 

“Ugh.” That was the answer. Tony wasn’t about to go crawling to Fury for anything, but he wasn’t above having a friend reach out in his place. And Steve could already think of a couple dozen things they’d need extra hands for – starting with the highest security hospital setting ever known to Earth. There were definitely people who would love the chance to take out Iron Man while he was down. “I hate this.”

 

“But you’re going to do it anyway.”

 

“Yep.” The phone buzzed in Tony's hand as it caught up with itself. “Ah, texting now?”

 

“Well, that's what kids do these days. It's the best way to keep in touch with Peter.”

 

“You never answer my texts.”

 

“You don't text me.”

 

“That's no excuse.” The man flipped open the phone and took a peek at the message. “…Great,” the billionaire groaned. Steve's heart jumped for a moment as worry seeped up through his veins. But as soon as he grabbed the phone back and checked the message, a smile spread across his face. He quickly texted back _Yes. P_ _lease pick up some pizzas on the way home. Maybe five or six._ They didn't have enough food in the fridge to feed all the people that were going to be here for dinner, and if Peter was any indication of how much one teenage boy could eat, Steve wasn't sure he wanted to know how much food two of them could put away.

 

_Actually, make it 8 to be safe. We can always have pizza for breakfast if there's leftovers._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized this week that I'm going to need to either take the whole month of December off (so I can write extra chapters and have a solid backlog for January) or take the whole month of January off. I'll be busy basically every day in January, like 12 hours a day (and days when I'm not busy I anticipate much sleeping will be happening to catch up on the non sleep from the rest of the week), and I will not have time to write, and I probably won't have time to do much editing either. And I've been trying to make up ground, but right now I'm only 3ish chapters ahead of what I'm posting because I keep going back and making huge edits (this chapter got 3 re-writes alone) as I figure out more solid plans for how we're going to get to Winter Soldier/what's going to happen before Winter Soldier. Plus, it's going to be a really stressful time in general and I don't want to end up just giving you guys something awful just so that I can put something out every week. I want to plan ahead on this one - 
> 
> So...here is an unofficial poll: Would you rather a hiatus in December, or January?


	18. Chapter 17

 

Ned sputtered for a moment as he stared at the hero in front of him. Peter wondered if this was what he’d looked like, back in September, when he’d first seen Mr. Stark, just standing there like a normal guy, like there wasn’t anything special about him.

 

Being normal and appearing not at all special was more Steve’s thing. Mr. Stark always walked with the confidence of someone who knew he was something special, so he never truly looked like a normal guy, even when he was wearing normal clothes. For that moment, though, he'd felt more normal than Peter could have ever imagined.

 

Of course, Ned hadn't even seen Mr. Stark yet. Steve and Dr. Banner had greeted them when they arrived home. Pepper had been working in the kitchen. Ned had already been slowly moving closer to bursting as they'd approached the building, as they'd gotten on the elevator, as the elevator hadn't stopped until it reached the top floor - and then to be welcomed by Captain America himself. It also didn't help that Steve's shield had been hanging up on the wall. 

And Steve had even offered to let Ned hold it. 

 

“You-he! Wow!” Ned's vocabulary had been reduced significantly, as well. He'd said 'wow' six times since they'd walked in. “I take it back. This really is the best Christmas present.”

 

“What, I thought ‘meeting cousin Steve’ wasn’t cool.” Ned hit his arm without tearing his gaze away from the Captain.

 

“I’m really not that interesting,” Steve offered.

 

“You’re Captain America!” Ned shouted. “Dude! If you were my cousin I’d be telling _everyone_. That is so cool!”

 

Bruce came back from the lab that he’d attempted to retreat to upon their arrival in order to allow the kids some privacy, tapping Peter on the shoulder as he passed by to grab some pizza. “Tony wants to see you.”

 

“…Waaaaiiiiit-"

 

“Yes, Tony Stark,” Peter told him.

 

“But you should stay here,” Steve commanded to Ned. “There’s probably a reason he wants to see Peter, alone. Besides, I’d been hoping to the chance to get to meet you for a few months now.”

 

“You… _you_ wanted to meet _me_ -“ Peter waved in thanks as Ned collapsed into a chair, still holding onto the famous shield. He was going to be busy for a while. So Peter had plenty of time to talk to Mr. Stark.

 

In the lab.

 

Alone.

 

Peter didn't need a therapist to point out that his anxiety had just immediately taken off into the stratosphere.

 

 _I can do this._ He took a deep breath. He wasn’t even sure why he was so anxious. Mr. Stark was amazing, and he was everything Peter had always wanted to be. Well, Peter didn’t necessarily care about being a billionaire (though being well off enough to make sure May and Ben had a good retirement had definitely been on his to-do list), but he did want to be like Mr. Stark in every other way. Brilliant, effortless. The kind of person no one pushed around in the halls. And being ridiculously attractive and beloved by almost everyone never hurt, either.

 

Yet his palms were sweating and his stomach was churning. This meeting was just a normal sort of thing. Just a teen talking to someone who was crashing at the place where he was living. This was fine. Sure, this was how he'd felt before the expo, too, at the thought of being in the same stadium as this man. But Mr. Stark was just a man who was crashing in their spare bedroom. He was Peter's cousin's friend. People had friends. People looked out for their friends. 

 

His heart was racing and his cheeks were flushing and his hands were shaking, just a little, and he knew it wasn't excitement that he was biting back.

 

_I'm just nervous. I'm dorky, and lame, and he thinks I'm an idiot. Or he doesn't think about me at all._

 

Normal fears, for meeting an idol whose opinion he definitely knew that he valued. He was just nervous.

 

“What are you doing?” Mr. Stark cut through, poking his head out of the lab. “Come here.”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

The teen stepped forward through the door, and there he was, again, just like that first day. No, even worse than that first day.

 

Mr. Stark was wearing pajama pants.

 

He'd never even gotten dressed that morning. It was so normal that Peter almost wanted to crawl on the ceiling right then and there just for some sense of not normalness. Or, was it just that he wanted to break the spell? To try to go back to a time when heroes were gods and he and Ben and May would be baking pies right now, just because it was pie-baking season. 

 

He definitely didn't want to see Mr. Stark like this. Hanging out in his pajamas, looking over the homework Jarvis had given Peter for his various engineering lessons, as though this was all just perfectly fine. As if this was how it was supposed to be.

 

As if he hadn't just maybe almost died last week. Like it was nothing. 

 

Nothing about this was normal.

 

“You finished all of the lessons already?”

 

“They weren’t very hard.” His words gave Tony pause. He’d designed a lesson plan that he’d thought would take about a year. He could admit he didn’t know how to gauge other people’s learning speeds, since this kind of stuff had always come naturally to him, but he was also pretty certain most people would have taken a lot longer than Peter had. And all the quizzes and tests and little crafts Jarvis had him building were perfect, too. Even if he was just blowing through them out of excitement, he was still acing the lessons. The kid was smarter than he’d given him credit for.

 

“Well.” What else was there to say? “Hm.”

 

“I'm sorry!” the kid immediately blurted, and suddenly it was like the floodgates had opened and words were just pouring out of the child's mouth. Apologizing for saying the lessons were easy, from what Tony was able to gather, but Peter's thoughts immediately started running off on tangents and poor pop-culture analogies and he fairly quickly fell down the rabbit hole into spewing absolute nonsense. It seemed like the only thing that was going to stop them was either the kid passing out...or Tony saying something.

 

So he did.

 

“Steve said you've been working on your own projects.” Immediately, the gates were closed and the words stopped. Tony glanced the boy over, making sure he was breathing, before continuing. “What have you been working on?”

 

Peter shifted, and his eyes turned down towards his shoes. “…stuff.”

 

“I figured. What kind of stuff?”

 

“I haven’t been touching your things, I promise! Only what Jarvis said I could for the lessons, and then maybe I borrowed some of the tools like _once_ but I promise I found all my own stuff and I didn’t break anything of yours I promise-”

 

There he went, vomiting up words again. Tony wasn't sure if this was an improvement over the usually quiet child he'd gotten used to. He knew Pepper _said_ the kid was talkative, when he felt comfortable, but this was something else entirely. “ _Kid._  That’s not what I asked.”

 

The teen shifted a bit, hesitant to answer. Tony narrowed his eyes, studying the kid’s every movement. What kind of freaky thing could a thirteen-year-old boy concoct when his big brain was left to its own devices for so long? Tony had blown quite a few things up at that age himself, and he'd had at least some semblances of guidance and supervision. Though, according to Jarvis, this kid hadn’t done anything of that nature. And there were only so many things a teenage boy could have on his mind. “I uhm…I’ll be right back.”

 

Just like that, the kid disappeared from the lab. Back to his room, Tony suspected. But he certainly took far too much time doing whatever it was he was doing. Tony quickly regretted agreeing to help Steve, deciding instead to have Jarvis pull up every time Peter popped into the lab over the last few months to try and discern for himself what the kid was making.

 

Unfortunately, true to his word, Peter had avoided using the lab, and if he did pop in, it was to do a lesson or revisit a lesson. “Ugh,” Tony groaned. He’d tried to keep the kid from exploding an arm off and instead he’d just driven him to being even less safe.

 

He did notice however, that a 'revisit' was rarely just a case of the kid going back to refresh himself on a lesson. Peter always selected very specific lessons to revisit so that he could use specific tools. And he was very careful to keep something between himself and the camera - usually his backpack, since that was where he seemed to keep the thing he was working on. “Sneaky,” he mumbled. That didn't set his mind at ease, though. Smart, clever, and bored was never a good combination.

 

He would know.

 

“Jarvis, what was he working on.”

 

“Cosplay, sir.”

 

“...Ok, fine. What is it supposed to do?”

 

“I believe he may be attempting to create a semi-functional Iron Man costume.”

 

“ _Semi_ functional? What does that mean!”

 

“He has not elaborated.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me about this!”

 

“You asked me not to discuss Mr. Parker unless you asked or unless he caused damage to himself or the lab. You have not asked, and he has caused damage.”

 

“Uuggh, you really need to learn when _not_ to listen to me.”

 

Tony could feel his heart starting to race. The kid was going to blow his own arm off. That was what semi-functional had to mean. Sure, that wasn't going to be his intentions, but that was what was going to happen. Explosions always happened when a too-smart teenage boy was given the tools to create things he didn't fully understand yet.

 

He could almost hear his father's disappointment ringing in his ears as he paced. Another explosion, another fire. Its why he'd built his helper bots and programmed them to go after fires, even if Dum-E was bad at it. Dum-E had been his first semi-intelligent robot, and Dum-E was still learning, kind of. Well, had been. He needed to go back to California to see if any of his hunks of junk had survived.

 

“Here,” the kid mumbled when he returned, placing two items on the table. One, a pair of goggles. The other was a wrist mounted super soaker, from the looks of it. Complete with a tiny bottle of water and a far too complicated pulley-trigger system.

 

“...cosplay?”

 

“Yeah. Uh, my, er, D&D character.”

 

“D&D.”

 

“...yeah.” Tony might have been inclined to doubt the story, except the boy turned into a walking tomato before Tony's eyes.

 

“Uh. Well. So.” He picked up the goggles to inspect why they were being presented to him. They seemed like just any other pair of goggles, until he realized the lenses could rotate. And the lenses zoomed. “Huh. Functional costumes.”

 

“Yeah.” The boy watched him closely as he lifted them up to his own face.

 

“Can you even see through these?” 

 

“Yes!” There was an edge to that tone that Tony couldn't quite make out. It couldn't be anger. This kid idolized him. What did he have to be mad about? It had to be embarrassment. Honestly, Tony could relate to that. Whenever he was embarrassed he lashed out, too. He let go easily when the kid snatched them back.

 

“They're so dark.”

 

“I...have bad eyes.”

 

“Do you really?”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

“...ok.” The kid shifted his weight again, letting his eyes drop back down to his shoes. This definitely wasn't going as planned. “And what, is this some kind of...water gun?” It definitely spritzed out a stream of water when he pressed on the poorly placed lever.

 

“At the moment.”

 

“At the – what else could you put in it?” _Fire,_ Tony's mind screamed. Well, not fire itself, but there were many, many things that could cause fire that could be used with something like this.

 

“...silly string.”

 

“...Oh.” This definitely wasn't going as planned. “You sure you don't have something weird or outrageous that you're working on, something you don't think anyone will understand? Because, trust me, a _lot_ of people thought I was joking when I said I was Iron Man. I literally had to prove them wrong. People were convinced that I was just building shiny robots for a while. You aren't working on anything interesting like that?”

 

“No.”

 

“Tony,” an angel's voice carried through the door.

 

“Pep!” he replied, grateful for the rescue.

 

“You are handling this. I can't. I seriously can't. I will scream at someone.” Even as she piled literal paperwork into his arms – _paper_ paperwork, not even electronic paperwork – Tony couldn't help but be grateful.

 

There were so many things he could complain about – why was the CEO doing paperwork in the days before Christmas? Why was there so much paperwork just before Christmas? Who dared do this?

 

But it was something familiar, something sensible. Something that didn't confuse every fiber of his being.

 

“Remember, you're supposed to be relaxing,” he told her as the teen mumbled an 'excuse me' and disappeared.

 

“This is relaxing when you run _this_ company.”

 

“Pep, please, for me? I'll take care of this.”

 

“Ohhh you'll take some responsibility for once?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“...Promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

Peter didn't stop at the living room in his escape. Instead, he bolted straight up the stairs, to the safety of at least the semi-familiarity of his own bedroom. His own sanctum in the center of a rich man's penthouse, loaned out to a friend in need. “Are you feeling well, Mr. Parker?” Jarvis greeted immediately as his door clicked shut. He knew he'd been noticed by the way the living room below grew silent.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Perfectly. Fine....crap.” He'd left his goggles, version 2, and the webshooter, version 1, downstairs. He didn't need them anymore since he'd moved onto the next versions, but he still wanted to keep them. Maybe one day he'd get a chance to show May. She'd probably be so proud of him...after she got done yelling at him for putting himself in such dangerous situations.

 

“You are not behaving in a manner that is typically consistent with being 'fine.'”

 

“Oh, is that so?”

 

“Yes.”

 

People were coming his way. He could feel their vibrations.

 

His studies over the past few months had taught him that his senses were in line with how spiders sensed vibrations in the world around them, and how they used those vibrations to figure out where they might find prey or when they may need to hide. That didn't explain his sixth sense for danger, but at least it helped him understand why he could 'hear' and 'see' and just _feel_ things that were even beyond his now perfect eyesight and heightened hearing abilities. He wasn't directly feeling it, not in the normal human sense of it, but every fiber of his being was in tune with the vibrations. 

 

“Woooaaaaahhh,” he heard Ned echoing out as his friend wandered up the stairs. In his haste for an excuse, Peter ran to his bathroom and flushed the toilet, just in time for Ned to arrive at his door. Thankfully, Jarvis didn't comment.

 

His friend then wandered in without knocking.

 

“Are you serious, Peter, you've been living _here_ this whole time and didn't tell me?!” he scolded, though there was no bite to his words as he slowly took in the whole room.

 

“Well, a lot happened, and I had a lot to get used to-”

 

“You have a pool. We could've been swimming in your pool.” Ned then hurried over to the window and peering down. “Wooww! Wow...why haven't you told the entire school about this?”

 

“I'm a liability?”

 

“...riiiight, if people found out all the bad guys of the world would try to kidnap you. Riiiiiiight. Dude. Your Captain America's son.”

 

“Cousin.”

 

“Right. But he's your legal guardian.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“...and you call in Steve.”

 

“That is his name.”

 

“You call Captain America _Steve_ but you won't call Iron Man Tony?”

 

“Well, that's, he's not really, it just seems...rude?”

 

“...Ok yeah, that makes sense. Who was the lady?”

 

“The-oh, Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Enterprises.”

 

“Oooooooooh - it true that they're dating?”

 

“I...am not allowed to confirm or deny those rumors.”

 

“So they are! Is that even legal? I guess she's the CEO so he's not really her boss but he owns the company so doesn't that make him more than a CEO, like the super-EO or something?”

 

“Ned!”

 

“Right, sorry. Private...wow.”

 

“Yeah, wow.”

 

“So. You must know all kinds of weird things about them, right? Like, does Black Widow dye her hair? She _has_ to, right? Her hair is _so red_.”

 

“No? I don't know. She doesn't visit often. She's always away on missions. But...It was weird, this one time she did visit. I got up for school one day and she was just, you know, sitting at the, uh, kitchen table, just having coffee. At May's table.” They had a proper, larger table in the dining area, but May's smaller table was situated in the kitchen for quick breakfasts. Even though they had a breakfast bar. Steve was really trying to find a way to keep things as familiar as possible. Peter did appreciate that the table was there, even if it was really weird to see Black Widow having coffee at it.

 

“That's it? She was just...having coffee?” And threatening careless teenagers for worrying their guardians, but Peter didn't tell Ned about that.

 

“Yeah. They're just...people, you know? Just like everyone else.”

 

“Well, yeah, everybody poops and all that. But regular people can't usually take down an entire giant alien army with just, like...four humans and two aliens...Waiiiiit, have you met Hulk? _Is_ he an alien like everyone says?”

 

“No and I don't know. Dr. Banner laughed when I told him about that, though, so maybe he isn't?”

 

“Who's that?”

 

“Who-oh! Dr. Banner, he's the guy that came to get me. He's like, their super science guy, er, well, I guess Mr. Stark is also science, but he's crazy smart. He's like a behind-the-scenes Avenger. He used to be a professor at Culver, you know, the school that-”

 

“May wanted you to go to.”

 

“Right. But he disappeared a few years ago, just dropped off the face of the Earth. Apparently this is where he's been. Being the world's must underappreciated Avenger.”

 

“Woooahh. And he just...hangs out here?”

 

“Oh, yeah, and...sometimes I go to the tower to hang out with him. He's been teaching me chemistry and physics.”

 

Ned froze for a moment, taking his time with each individual word. “You mean the-”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Woah.” Ned collapsed on Peter's bed.

 

“Want to see something even cooler?”

 

“What's cooler?!”

 

“Hey Jarvis, say Hi to Ned.”

 

“Hello, Ned,” Jarvis said.

 

“YOUR ROOM TALKS?”

 

“That's just Jarvis. He's, uh, Mr. Stark's...super smart, super intrusive, and kinda cool AI.”

 

“I will choose to take that as a compliment, Mr. Parker.”

 

Ned immediately started pestering Jarvis with questions and requests, and Peter, for the first time in months, felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. This was something he wouldn't need to lie about. This was something he could talk about with someone else. _This_ was what normal was supposed to feel like. This was what family was supposed to be.

 

Unfortunately, Ned's mom wasn't keen on letting him stay over that night. For one, they had family plans for the holidays. On the other, far more important, hand, she didn't know 'cousin Steve,' as Ned quickly took to calling him in jest. Ned said he'd work on wearing his mom down without telling who Steve was, but until then Ned wasn't going to be allowed to stay the night. So, after their pizza dinner, without Mr. Stark, who was actually keeping his word to Pepper and doing the paperwork, he headed on home.

 

That night, _It's a Wonderful Life_ was on. Well, it was on most nights during the season, but this was the first night that both Peter and Steve were free at the same time and didn't otherwise have some other huge worry hanging over them.

 

So, Steve decided it was high time he saw this 'classic' that everyone kept assuming he'd gotten to see in theaters just because it was 'so old.' Mr. Stark tried to protest, and Peter found he wasn't completely comfortable with the high number of people that were there to watch it with them, but Steve had the final say. Well, Pepper had the real final say with Mr. Stark, but she was in agreement with Steve. Everyone was going to gather around and watch this classic Christmas movie and bask in the season. It was the perfect way to relax after everything that had happened.

 

Well, in theory. Peter hadn't been this uncomfortable in months. Dr. Banner was dozing off in a chair and Pepper had her head on Mr. Stark's shoulder on the loveseat while Peter and Steve shared the couch. It looked like just a family and some friends getting together.

 

Steve was as intent and focused as ever. Whenever he watched movies, he would lean forward and his eyes would fixate on the screen. Mr. Stark took a picture of it. The ding of Steve's phone pried his eye away from the television. Just like any modern man, he, too, had to be in tune with the never-ending stream of messages he might receive.

 

“ _Tony_ ,” he groaned when he looked at his message.

 

“What? You said I never text you. Well, I just did.”

 

Dr. Banner's phone went off, too. Then all three of their phones dinged a few more times, making Peter suspect that Mr. Stark had just created a group text, all for the purpose of joking about Steve.

 

The teen tried not to roll his eyes. He wasn't even sure why he was so annoyed. It  _was_ funny to see such a look of concentration over a sentimental movie. But he was annoyed all the same, and everything, since Ned left, had seemed to just push his buttons more and more.

 

So Peter excused himself to the kitchen. Going to his room would be too suspicious. The kitchen had things a teen might need in the middle of a movie, like water or another snack.

 

This was Christmas. Everything around him was oozing with nostalgia and forced joy (and some true joy) and family. Family everything. In the commercials, in the ads, in the songs, in the shows. But he was Peter Parker. And his family kept leaving him. It wasn't their fault. He knew, logically, it wasn't technically his fault, either. It wasn't his fault that driver hadn't been paying attention. It wasn't his fault Oscorp had been attacked. It wasn't his fault that superheroes couldn't always do the safe thing.

 

But here he was. Without Ben, without May, without his mom, with a family that could run off to a deadly mission at any minute.

 

“Ughh, doesn't he know how worried everyone was?” Peter grumbled as he got himself some water.

 

“He does,” Steve's voice came from behind him. Peter dropped the glass, but his other hand whipped up to grab it before it could fall. Peter wasn't sure if Steve had seen it, since his back was to his cousin. If he had, Steve didn't say anything. “I think he cares, too. Maybe. He's harder to read than his dad was.” The teen realized that he hadn't been paying attention. He had been so wrapped up inside his own self that he'd lost track of the world. That had been happening a lot lately. He'd have to do better, since people sneaking up on him was probably something he should try to avoid.

 

“I, uhm, I didn't mean to interrupt the movie-”

 

“It's on at least 12 more times before Christmas and apparently Jarvis is recording it. I can watch what I missed anytime.” Steve grabbed a glass for himself. “Sorry about Tony.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For how he's been acting. I wish I could say he's usually better behaved, but...this is really what he's like when he's not on camera. You get used to it after a while.” Peter's hand clenched down on the glass he was holding, the pressure immediately creating cracks. “Woahh, hey, careful,” Steve said, pulling the glass out of his hand as it started leaking on the floor. “Uhm-”

 

“Aunt May got those on clearance. Guess now we know why no one wanted them.”

 

“Right. We'll...get some new ones...Are you ok?”

 

“I'm fine.”

 

The captain paused, looking over the teen in front of him. The way his shoulders tensed, the way he pressed his hands down on the counter as though that was the only thing keeping him grounded. It was an all too familiar position, especially now that he was friends with Tony Stark, who was a man who regularly needed to ground himself to keep from panicking. “I don't want to push you to talk to me if you don't want to, but I do want you to know that you can talk to me. I promise, I will always do my best to help you.”

 

“...I know.” The two lingered there for a moment as Steve tried to determine if he needed to wait, or give the kid some more space. When Peter didn't move, he decided to reach out. Just a firm pat of reassurance. Something to help the kid in his efforts to ground himself, even if he still didn't want to talk. It was a small thing he could still offer Peter. “It's not just Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered just before he made contact.

 

“Oh?” He retracted his hand, not wanting to break the moment.

 

“He...you...it's...your job. To do that. And...its, I mean, I don't want to get in the way. I don't. But. You...he could have died. And you...You've already...”

 

“Things were different back then," Steve cut him off quickly, immediately reaching back out and grabbing the teen by his shoulders to make sure he looked up. "I didn't have you back then.”

 

“But if you had to...you'd do it again, wouldn't you?” Peter knew his words weren't fair. He was pretty sure he'd jump into danger himself, if he had to. And he knew Steve would be upset if he got hurt. And he also knew that wouldn't stop him from doing it, even if it would maybe make him pause to try to figure out the least-dangerous route first. But he was pretty sure he'd still do it. After all...he had just jumped into that fire.

 

“I will always do everything I can to make sure you're safe and cared for. And with today's technology, what I did back then wouldn't even happen now.”

 

“With today's technology, terrorists almost kill the president and take CEOs hostage and-and-.” Peter clenched his eyes, trying to bite back the pain and the pressure and the...tears. His hand darted up to brush them away. The realization didn't make them stop, though. He was crying, and he couldn't help it, and the harder he tried to suppress it so as not to further upset Steve, the harder it became to breathe.

 

Steve wasn't as hesitant as Peter. He pulled the kid tight into his arms, resting a sure hand on top of his tanlged brown locks. “Peter, listen to me, take a deep breath.” When he felt the boy listen, he continued. “Hold it for one, two, three...four...five. Let it out...and again.” It didn't stop the tears – and Steve didn't want to stop those. If Peter needed to cry, then he should be allowed to. He just wanted to make sure Peter didn't forget that he needed to breathe, too.

 

When Tony tried to come into the kitchen himself, he gave the man his darkest of glares to shoo him away. Tony held up his hands, showing a present – one of Steve's presents for Peter – in his hand. He carefully sat it down on the breakfast bar before retreating. Given how quiet the movie was, there was no way the people in the other room hadn't realized what was up. At least Peter didn't seem to notice.

 

And Steve stayed there with him, waiting. Letting him get it all out, reminding him to breathe, only letting go when Peter squirmed away, the tears long passed.

 

“I know...its not fair,” the teen whispered. “I know. But...my mom, and Ben, and May, and...and this week, and you, and...I don't even know my father. Mom said she'd tell me about him someday, but, then, y'know. The car crash. I don't think Ben knew, I know May didn't..." Peter's mind was struggling to cling to a single train of thought, so he didn't bother trying. He just let the words pour out as they came. "And I don't want you to not be a hero, that's wrong. Not even a selfish wrong but...when you...when you can do the things...that _you_ do...That...” The teen paused, fighting over a 'we' that threatened to pop out, but that was one thing he could manage to suppress. “That you do. And you don't, then...You know, bad things happen, but you could have done something, and-and...And I know you don't like sitting around doing nothing even when bad things aren't happening, because there's always something happening. And I'll never ask you not to, because...i...its...the world needs you. And _you_ need to be you. But...please don't die.”

 

“Oh Peter.” All he could do for a moment was just hug the kid. His kid. “I...I can't promise I won't do dangerous things.”

 

“I don't want you to! I just...don't want to lose you, too.”

 

“I...I promise, that I will always fight to come home to you.”

 

It was all he had to offer. That, and being here, right now. 

 

“What...did Mr. Stark want?”

 

“How did you know-you know what, never mind. He was just dropping off this.” Steve picked the present up. It looked like Pepper had fixed Steve's bad wrapping skills, and he was grateful. This was a particularly hard shape to wrap. “I made, er, well, I tried to make-”

 

“Headphones?” Peter guessed quickly as he felt the packaging.

 

“State of the art headphones,” Steve explained. “One of a kind. I made – well, Tony made them, mostly, but I tried to help. Before he threw me out.” The man let out a sigh. “I wanted to try to make sure it was personal. He did let me pick the colors, though.” As the wrapping fell away, Peter gasped at the shining Red, Blue, and Gold detailing over the slim but incredibly sturdy frame. “I tried to make them myself, from his schematics, but…I accidentally set the first pair on fire.” The teen couldn’t help but laugh. The thought of Steve 1940s Man-Out-of-Time Rogers trying to learn how to build a pair of headphones with Tony Tech-Genius-and-Futurist-and-Super-Inventor Stark breathing down his neck was hilarious enough. Of course he set something on fire! But then just the thought of the (pretty small, in comparison) inventor tossing out America’s greatest myth, legend, and hero in frustration – that thought was priceless. Maybe he’d ask Jarvis if he could see the recordings of it later. There had to be recordings. “It’s, uhm, made out of the same stuff he makes his armor out of. And supposedly they’re completely soundproof.”

 

“You’re the best,” Peter let out, wrapping the soldier in another tight hug. He realized quickly that he needed to not squeeze too tight – even super soldiers were still made out of the same materials as every other human, and no thirteen year old should be able to break a grown man’s ribs with a hug. “This is just what I needed...All I got you was an ornament...it's a really nice ornament, it's uhm, mom said it was an old family-”

 

“Tradition. It is. My grandmother–your...great great grandmother? She made specialized ornaments for all sorts of occasions. It was a new tradition for a new future, she'd say. She was a first generation immigrant. She came over with my grandpa and my dad, and his sister, your great grandmother, was born after they got here...All those ornaments have been lost by now, I'm sure. SHIELD would've given them back to me already if they weren't. But I remember there was one for Dad, one for his sister, there was one for me, too. One for when Mom and Dad got married, all sorts of things.”

 

“...we have old ornaments. Mom never put them up because they were really fragile, but Ben showed them to me. When I was old enough not to break them. Their grandma had gotten them all...I guess she was just keeping up her mom's tradition.”

 

“I really wish I could've met her.”

 

“Me too.” Peter paused, realizing he hadn't even so much as looked for the stuff that had been in storage since they'd moved in here. He frowned at his selfishness. “I don't know where the ornaments are.”

 

“I'll ask Tony where he had stuff stored. In the meantime, do you want to hang our new ornament up tonight? I think it will look fantastic on our tree."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from some tonal tweaks, the scene between Tony and Peter was actually one of the first scenes I wrote while I was testing if I wanted to write this whole story out. I'd initially thought it would happen much closer to Age of Ultron, like maybe on one of their visits home between missions. Apparently the characters had other plans for it. But I'm glad I was still able to use it, even if it switched from super-excited-trying-to-impress-his-idol Peter to kinda-agitated-that-the-people-in-his-life-don't-take-their-own-survival-seriously Peter (he also still wants to impress Tony more than anything – but the anger took precedence, whereas it hadn't before).


	19. Chapter 18

Christmas Day was spent at Avenger’s Tower, and it managed to be a normal enough day to put both Peter and Steve’s minds at ease, at least for the remainder of the holiday. The place wasn’t heavily decorated, though Mr. Stark had hired some people to put in an effort. As long as they stayed on the top floor (which Peter had decided to call ‘the party floor,’ since that seemed to be its primary purpose), it was almost just a nice, cozy little party among friends.

 

And one kid. Though even Peter had to admit that everyone was at least trying to include him. It helped that he could keep pace with Dr. Banner's science talk.

 

There was one thing that had greatly concerned him, though: Presents.

 

He hadn't known if he should get gifts for everyone, and Steve had assured him he shouldn't feel pressure to do so, but he knew the other adults were definitely getting him things. And the only Avengers Peter felt he knew well enough to get gifts for were Steve and Dr. Banner (whom he'd gotten plenty of joke Avenger novelty gifts – like a silly Captain America socks and a 'beam me up' Hulk sweater, both of which Dr. Banner had, thankfully, loved).

 

Luckily, come Christmas day, it turned out that those gifts were, for the most part, just practical things.

 

Pepper got him a new winter coat, and a very expensive looking thermal hoodie. She'd had the sense to take the price tags off the gifts, much to Peter's relief. Ms. Romanov had brought him seemingly completely water and cold proof boots, along with Mr. Barton's gifts, since he couldn't join them. He had been the one who got some more, well, kid-oriented gifts in the form of generally not-particularly-violent (but still quite fun) video games and some fidgety toys 'to help you focus.' Peter's cheeks had lit up bright red. Of course Mr. Barton would remember that he didn't pay attention. At least the hero didn't seem to hold it against him.

 

Mr. Barton had also sent a couple of matching ugly sweaters along with the command that Steve and Peter had to take a picture.

 

They did.

 

It had done a fantastic job of helping Peter ignore Mr. Stark's gift – a college fund. No, that was under-selling it. It wasn't just a savings account to pay for college. It was a couple hundred thousand dollars set aside to pay for his undergrad studies. Apparently his graduate studies fund was being saved for a future birthday or something. Just like his one-of-a-kind phone, this, too, was nothing to the man. In fact, Peter got this sense that this was his attempt at holding back. He didn't seem to really understand how to keep things simple.

 

Which wasn't a surprise to anyone.

 

Dr. Banner's gift was Peter's favorite, though. He had apparently spent the better part of the last month setting up a database just for Peter to work from. All of the non-classified information he could provide was added. That way they didn't need to set up any sort of special, weird security clearances just for the teen. Everything he was allowed access to was all set aside, just for him.

 

This database came complete with information that wasn't yet easily accessed by the public. Which included information on spiders that had been discovered within the last few years.

 

It also included a mostly-complete index of chemicals available in Dr. Banner's lab. There was a section labeled 'off limits,' but it was kind enough to tell him where the off limits items were located as well as to inform him of the security measures protecting them. Peter _was_ curious as to what was in there, but he wasn't curious enough to face the wrath of SHIELD. Besides, he was pretty sure he didn't need any of that stuff anyway.

 

“You really have a lot of information,” Peter commented as he pretended to just be browsing.

 

“Yeah, SHIELD really set me up. I think they were hoping I’d help them with some of their science projects, but I’m done working for the government. I tried that, and, it, ah, didn’t end well.”

 

“…Wait, the Avengers aren’t a part of SHIELD?”

 

“Sorta. I think SHIELD wants us to be, but as long as Tony’s around that will never happen. He doesn’t play by the rules. Did you see his court case-“

 

“Before the EXPO? Yeah. That was so cool. All the kids on the playground were re-enacting-“ Peter cut himself off when he noticed Mr. Stark lingering in the doorway. His cheeks flushed bright red without his consent. He dropped his gaze down to the floor as his last defense to hide his shame, but Mr. Stark didn’t let it slide.

 

“Oh, no, please continue,” his idol said. “Who got to play me?”

 

“A guy named Nick.”

 

“What, not you? You had the gloves.”

 

“Well, Nick was…kind of the worst, so he always got his way because no one wanted to deal with him when he didn’t get his way.”

 

“That sounds like a very Nick thing to do.” Peter didn’t get the joke, but Dr. Banner seemed to like it. “What’re we looking at here? Oooh, spiders. You into the creepy crawly stuff?”

 

“Uhm, no-“ His voice squeaked at the word. “I mean, not really, but kind of? This is really interesting stuff.”

 

“Yeah. Dead spiders. Really…gross. Sorry, but it’s just gross.”

 

“What, Tony Stark doesn’t like spiders?” Dr. Banner teased.

 

“I pay people to make sure spiders never get into my homes for a reason. They belong out there, not in here.” Peter’s hand trembled as he flicked the screen to the next category to try to cover up what he'd been looking at. The next section was scorpions. That was kinda cool, too, but not at all useful. “Jarvis just finished compiling your next batch of lessons, kid. But you’re going to need a bigger lab, and better supervision. So. And this is not another present. Well, maybe it can be a birthday present because I will not remember your birthday. Here.” He held out a shining card on an Avengers-themed lanyard. 

 

“What is it?” Peter asked as he hung the lanyard around his neck. He knew there was no way he was being inducted into the Avengers _yet_. As far as they knew, he was just Steve's cousin. That on its own didn't make him Avengers material. 

 

“What is it? Aren't you supposed to be freaky smart? It’s a keycard to the tower. You’re going to need it for your lessons. It’s limited to three floors – my lab, Bruce’s lab here, and the lobby. And you will only have access when Jarvis grants you permission. If the labs are in use or if the tower is otherwise occupied, Jarvis will not let you in.”

 

“Got it.” 

 

“These lessons are going to be a lot harder than your last ones.”

 

“Good…I mean, thank you, thank you Mr. Stark.” He tried to look right into Mr. Stark’s eyes, trying to be as polite and proper as possible, but he found himself examining his shoes instead. “The lessons were-“

 

“Don’t say great. If you were bored, you need to say so.”

 

“…Ok. They were uhm, pretty boring, but I did learn a few new things, I promise.”

 

“Good. These will be better. You’ll be doing the kind of stuff I was working on when I was eight. But without the fires. If Jarvis detects even the tiniest wisp of smoke, he will douse _everything_. Understood?”

 

“Yes sir.” Peter shifted his weight, trying to hide his nerves that they were going to figure him out any minute now. At least if they noticed how fearful he was, he could just say he was nervous around Mr. Stark. That was true. He was still feeling annoyance over Mr. Stark almost getting himself killed, and of course he couldn’t say that out loud, but he was also still terrified of disappointing his idol in any way despite that annoyance. That was enough to turn him into a puddle of anxiety on its own. No one needed to know about his secret project, and absolutely no one needed to know about Spider-Man. There were going to be no experiments on him, there was going to be no military boot camp, and no one was going to be disappointed in him for keeping secrets. 

 

Mr. Stark looked him over for several torturous moments. He tried to stand still, but his ankles trembled, threatening to force him to collapse under the weight of Iron Man’s mighty gaze. “Let me know if you make something interesting.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Stop torturing the kid,” Ms. Romanov called from the doorway as she came to scoop up the adults. “You have a phone call.”

 

“No I don’t.”

 

“Yes you do.”

 

“I said I don’t. Tell them I’m not available and hang up.”

 

“I’m not going to hang up on the president. And you need to stop dodging his calls.”

 

“…Fiiiine.” Just like that, Iron Man was gone, and the kind of slightly just a little bit whiney man who didn’t want to deal with the world had returned. On one hand, it was astounding that anyone would dodge calls from the president, but Peter also figured that someone like Mr. Stark had to put up with all kinds of calls from all kinds of important people who felt they deserved large chunks of his day all the time. That had to be annoying. 

 

Within moments, Peter was left alone again. Dr. Banner decided he had other things to do, but really it seemed that he’d just noticed that Peter wanted to be alone. He really was quite in tune with his team’s negative feelings.

 

He immediately flicked back to the spiders. There were hundreds of different types categorized and documented. “If you are interested in spiders,” Jarvis started. “Might I suggest looking under the sub folder for the Darwin’s bark spider? It is quite a fascinating one. It was recently discovered in 2009.”

 

“Do you find things fascinating, or is that just your programming?”

 

“I have reviewed your previous actions and determined that this spider seems to be the best match for what you may be looking for.”

 

“…you’ve been watching my research?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Have you…told anyone?”

 

“When last I mentioned your interests to Mr. Stark, he informed me that he was not interested unless something was on fire or broken. So far, you have not broken anything besides the television remote and you have not set anything on fire.”

 

“What about anyone else?”

 

“No one else has asked me about your progress. Would you like me to inform them-“

 

“No! No thank you. I…I, uh, don’t want, er…I don’t want them to think I’m weird. Please don’t tell anyone about this.”

 

“As you wish, Mr. Parker.” Despite the unwanted intrusion, Peter had to admit that Jarvis was right. The Darwin’s bark spider had the strongest known webs in all of spiderkind. That didn’t help Peter solve the problem of making his sticky goo turn into solid, sturdy ropes, but the database did have a breakdown of the chemical compositions of just about every part of its body, as well as detailed scans, x-rays, and even dissections of the spider itself. He was also able to compare Darwin’s spinnerets with the other spiders he’d been previously using as his guides. 

 

While he was sure he’d have a much easier time if he could just clone the DNA like most other scientists who’d studied this had done before, he would still be hitting the same walls they were hitting.

 

There was something beyond the DNA and the proteins and the various organs within the spider that contributed to the creation. There was just something that everyone was always missing. They were all just within reach, but not quite there. He’d spent hours staring at spiders, days trying to recreate their secrets. He’d found a way to create a protein that was similar enough, but he couldn’t get it to bind into a sturdy form. But so had hundreds of scientists before him. Trained scientists, at that. Ones who didn’t have to sneak around some of the smartest people on the planet to try to crack the secrets. What were they all missing? “I wonder…if…” Peter flicked through all of the other spiders, keeping Darwin open as a primary reference. 

 

He tried zooming in to take a look at the molecular level, since now he had actual good samples instead of needing to rely on what he read and stolen glances at the random webs he’d found around the city under any microscopes he could get his hands on. Since Jarvis was aware of his ‘fascination’ anyway, what was the harm? He would just have to be careful that Spider-Man didn’t make any front pages or breaking news stories. Given how few crimes he was actually able to catch people doing during his normal active hours, that wouldn’t be too hard.

 

The most he'd found on himself so far was a handful of videos online of him doing things like running up the sides of buildings. The commenters had a deep in debate about it – was it a new alien, or just super parkouring? Surely no human could run on the side of a building like that! Of course, then some parkour people had gotten involved and tried to prove it was possible, though none of them had been able to run in a straight line across the entire side of a building. Some of the parkour people had switched to the ‘it’s an alien!’ side, while some of the alien people had switched to the parkour side.

 

It was all really hilarious. He was starting to understand why Dr. Banner found the ‘Hulk is an alien’ idea so amusing. Dr. Banner had to know what the Hulk really was, and given his reaction Peter felt it was safe to assume Hulk was definitely not an alien, even if he might be in space  _now_ . “Where else could they be hiding a 10 foot tall green smashing machine?” Peter mumbled as he poked through the folders.

 

“Are you aware that different spiders use different proteins used in the creation of-“ Jarvis started to try to help again, but Peter cut him off. He didn’t need more rudimentary lectures on things he already knew.

 

“Yeah, spidroins, which some company managed to get goats to form in their milk and they made fibers from that…but then they went bankrupt because it was a ridiculously expensive process. But at least it was more feasible than trying to farm spiders.”

 

“You are quite knowledgeable on this subject.”

 

“I’ve been studying…wait…what if…Has anyone tried _that_?” The gears in his brain felt like they came screeching to a halt as he realized there was something he hadn't yet tried. 

 

“Do you have a question, Mr. Parker?”

 

“No, I think I have an answer. And before you ask, no, it’s not flammable or toxic.” Thanks to Dr. Banner’s lessons, Peter quickly found the things he was looking for. They weren't even that special, though his middle school definitely didn't keep all the ingredients in stock. Then, after a quick tweak to the formula here, an adjustment to his web shooter there, he leaned back to contemplate his work. “Maybe this one will work.”

 

“Is this for another costume?”

 

“Yes.” That wasn’t a lie. It was for a costume. Just not the kind of costume Jarvis was thinking. Could Jarvis think? “Why are you so nosy?” 

 

“I am programmed to monitor you while in the labs and to ensure that you do not do anything dangerous as well as to periodically check in with you so that you do not get lonely.”

 

“Was that Mr. Stark’s idea?”

 

“Several members of the team agreed on this plan, though it has been adjusted a few times by Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers.”

 

“Several? No, wait, I don’t want to know. I’m going to go out and see if this works the way I want it to.”

 

He gave the adults a quick wave as he hurried past. Mr. Stark looked bored on his video call, but Peter did notice the man perk up and strain to see what he was running off with.Hopefully Jarvis would vouch for him that he was just working on a costume. And Mr. Stark did already know that Peter had a penchant for that.

 

Peter decided he may need to try making actual Iron Man gauntlets, though, so that he could have something to show Mr. Stark next time he asked. He wasn’t sure he’d use them, though. They seemed a bit too dangerous for regular use in the city. There were too many things people could hit their heads on.

 

He pulled on his new hoodie under Steve's coat, too, doubling up on the warmth. As soon as he stepped outside, he noticed the difference with all of his fancy new winterwear. With his new boots and gloves, he might actually have considered himself comfortable. Well, except for his nose. But he was able to remedy that issue fairly quickly by pulling his mask on. He’d reinforced the nose and cheeks with an extra layer of fabric, though his sewing skills still left much to be desired. He figured that was another skill he’d need to work on, since there was no metal suit on the planet that could be flexible enough to keep up with him, so he was bound to be spending quite a bit of time repairing fabrics.

 

There was a park in his old neighborhood – well, more of an overgrown weed patch that had once been a park – that he figured he could use as a testing ground. It was where he had used to play with some of the other kids in his neighborhood, back before he got shunned because he couldn’t keep up with them. They'd always wanted to play baseball or kickball or tag or any other large number of things that required both coordination and stamina, neither of which Peter had.

 

He strapped his device onto his left forearm and inserted his test tube into its slot. Since his little tangle with the penthouse perp, he’d added a lever that could be pulled by his thumb. Logically, that would work better than a lever that he needed to press with his second hand. “Maybe I could even make a second one,” he mumbled to himself as he situated the thing. Two webs were bound to be better than one. Though he did find it hard to move his left arm around too much with the chunky device on it. “This is just a prototype,” he reminded himself. “I can refine it later. What’s important…is getting it to do the job I need it to do.” He easily found a few discarded bottles and cans and lined them up along the supports on the fence. Though he’d tried to find the ones with the faintest smells, he still found his nose scrunching up involuntarily at the stench of the cheapest beers the city had to offer.

 

In the pocket of his coat, he’d stashed a palm-sized notebook. One of the six surviving notebooks that he had at the moment. He usually only used the first few pages before each notebook was eventually accidentally left in his locker when he needed it at home or accidentally left at home when he needed it at school. He’d tried keeping little ones in his jeans pockets, but…well, those often wound up going through the wash. It was practically a rite of passage ceremony for his notebooks at this point. It wasn’t truly a research notebook unless it had been left somewhere when he needed it elsewhere. He didn’t mean to forget them. It just happened. And without Aunt May to remind him to empty all his pockets on laundry day, he was lucky he had any little notebooks left at all. Thankfully, winter allowed him to keep a small one in his coat pocket at all times. That was at least something that he would never forget, given how cold it was. Though it had taken him until about Christmas eve to remember to put a notebook in the coat Steve had given him. And now he had another new coat in need of a notebook.

 

 _Webshooter v. 2, Webs v. 28, Test 1_ he scratched on the first available page, along with a quick summation about why this test was different.

 

“This is it. This has to be it. I don’t know what else I could be missing. I recreated perfect spinnerets. I managed to find a formula that will recreate the proteins. Please. Please please _please_ work this time.” He lifted his arm, situated his pull on the tip of his thumb, and used his right hand to help aim right at the center bottle. There was a smiling sun on the label just begging for a web to the face. “Aaaaaand – shoot!” he called out as he tugged on his trigger with his thumb. 

 

A rope shot out from the device. It missed the sun, though, latching onto the wood of the fence instead. “…Oops.”

 

He yanked his pull off his thumb to that he didn’t accidentally make more of this rope substance before giving it a tug. When it didn’t collapse immediately under that slight pressure, he tugged his notebook back out.

 

_1: It made rope. 2: Rope is holding form. Will need to test in warmer environment to make sure this isn’t just due to the cold._

 

Peter’s hand was shaking with excitement, making his handwriting completely illegible, but he was sure he’d figure out what he meant later. “And now, how strong are you?” He stepped forward enough for the material to go slack before taking it up in both hands. He gave the material little tugs without it breaking, so he tensed up his muscles and gave it a proper Peter-Spider-Man-Parker tug. The material slowly began stretching out as he pulled, but, for the first time since they did weightlifting in gym at the beginning of the school year, he felt his muscles trembling at the strain.

 

And it didn’t break.

 

“I can bend metal. I can stop cars.” _3: Material doesn’t break when I pull on it with full strength._

 

He probably could break it, if he pulled long enough, but he honestly didn’t want to find out how much it’d hurt to break something when he was pulling with full strength. He’d probably dislocate a shoulder or something. “Ok, ok, so. It’s strong, it’s solid. It’s sticking.” He yanked his arm back again. The fence groaned and threatened to snap on him, but his rope didn’t let go. _4: Webbing sticks to wood. Doesn’t fall when tugged._

 

“It’s sticking really well. Uhmmm, next test is the weight test…no, first I need to get this off me.” He gave his arm a shake, but the rope only grew longer. The cap couldn’t go back on, either, because there was a 10 millimeter wide line of webbing in the way. “Uhhhhh…well, this is technically an improvement. Way to go Pete. You’ve had a breakthrough.” Previous webs would either break apart easily, or he could rip them apart himself. This wasn’t going to be so easy. “Maybe I should’ve made it a little smaller first. Maybe I could’ve broken it if it wasn’t so thick.” After all, in the research he’d read, it was speculated that a spider’s web would only need to be 1 millimeter to be able to hold up the average adult. Which meant 10 millimeters was probably overkill. But he wasn’t expecting to come close to actual spider webs, so he’d guessed he’d need something a bit wider to come close.

 

“Maybe for my next trick I’ll make one that can give different sizes. Ooohh and web bombs. That’d be cool.”

 

_5: Figure out how to make web bombs._

_6: Figure out how to cut the webs._

 

The stickiness was truly fantastic. As Peter wandered around the clearing looking for anything sharp, it picked up all kinds of junk along the way. Including an old aluminum can. _7: Maybe it’s too sticky._

 

“There we go.” While he couldn’t separate the can from the web, he did manage to saw into the webbing, which gave enough leeway that he was then able to rip it. “Ok, definitely need a smaller circumference…and a lot of other tweaks.”

 

He paused, looking at the line of web as it trailed from the fence and vanished into the snow. “But it worked…It worked! I am the web _master_! WOOO!”

 

The city didn’t cheer back. In fact, he saw a grumpy old man appear at one of the windows, shaking his head at the kid. “HOOLIGAN!” he heard the guy shout. By now, hearing things he knew he shouldn’t have been able to hear didn’t bother him. But it was still amusing sometimes.

 

Peter still couldn’t help but whoop again, though. And do a backflip for good measure. Soon, so soon, he would be flying through this city. And maybe…maybe he would finally be able to find out what happened to Aunt May.

 

“I’ll find her, Ben. I promise. I’ll make it right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter would be an easy one that didn't need much editing, but then I realized I had made a few changes in the last few chapters that then necessitated a few deep edits. 
> 
> I debated on splitting this chapter and meshing its important parts into the next chapter, since it's so short and so light, but I kind of needed an easy chapter this week. So please forgive my brevity, and let us all celebrate Peter's victory in accomplishing what real life scientists are only just now starting to kind of accomplish.


	20. Chapter 19

“Ok, let’s do this one more time,” Peter mumbled to himself as he jogged away from therapy the Friday before break ended. Each week, that room felt smaller and smaller as the questions pressed deeper and deeper. He supposed it was probably normal to feel uncomfortable with therapy, especially when you had so much to hide. These days, therapy felt more like he was going to weekly Lying Practice, where he was learning more and more and more how to dodge the truth. The truth was dangerous. And also sometimes confidential, considering the whisperings he tried so hard not to listen in on but couldn’t help but hear.

 

Melissa hadn’t shown up this week. She’d gotten a new job for the holiday season and was working as much as she could, which made complete sense, given her situation. But it meant that he didn’t even get to have his quick post-therapy detox with her. That was alright for now. Peter was going to have good news for her soon. He was sure of it. In the week since Christmas, he had made and destroyed and remade twelve new trial webshooters, each one with a new feature he’d forgotten or a new refinement to make it work. This had to be the one. School started on Monday and his free time was about to be cut short again. This had to be the right one. Or close enough to it.

 

The first thing he’d done when he got home Christmas day (well, after lying to Captain America about what he’d been up to, because that was apparently the Peter Parker way now) was get right to work in his room. The Clunker, as he’d named his first functioning shooter, was gutted for any parts that gave away its secrets and set up on a shelf in case anyone wanted to see what he’d been working on. He decided he’d add a small flashlight to it later, in the place where the artificial spinneret had been, just to give it a little edge as a costume piece.

 

First, he’d made two newer, and far less clunky, devices. He also designed them for 5 millimeter webs rather than 10. Then, he added a way for the web to be cut off since that, in retrospect, was something he desperately needed.

 

With that modification, he’d gone up on top of a building and started swing test number 1, only for it to end in total disaster because his thumb-pull idea was actually the worst. It was better than using two hands, but it came with one incredibly fatal flaw: As soon as he let go of the pull, the rope cut off. And if he didn’t let go of the pull, then the rope kept shooting. Which meant he used a lot of webfluid (as he’d named it) in a very short period of time.

 

Dr. Banner had quickly noticed Peter spending a great deal of time in the lab since his thumb-pull meant he needed to replenish his supply regularly. Dr. Banner had also been spending time in the lab since he was finishing up testing for Pepper’s cure, which meant they were spending a lot of time in there together. Which wasn't something Peter wanted when it came to his secret, so he had also quietly set up a little lab for himself in his closet. The thing was big enough to be a spare bedroom anyway, and his clothes barely took up a small corner of it, so why not?

 

Of course, he’d need the lab to refine his formula later. He already had a dozen ideas that he wanted to try, now that he had a basic working formula to use as his playground. But that could wait.

 

For now, he was sure he had figured out the solution to his web-slinging dilemma. He was going to do it this time. He was going to fly.

 

Peter chose a pizza place as his starting point, first grabbing a couple slices of the cheapest pizza they had to fill himself up on before bundling his phone up in his thick gloves (he’d learned that thin gloves were going to be a requirement for this job since the thick ones made it difficult to stick to walls) and tucking it safely under the shop’s wooden stairs. “There you go, Mr. Stark. I’m just hanging out, having some pizza.”

 

He tugged on his thinner bright red gloves and strapped his webshooters around his wrists, not bothering to change out of his jeans since he’d recently acquired some dancer-approved pants to wear under them to minimize chafing. This was just going to be a test day, nothing that would need a fully spider-costume.

 

The small triggers he'd added to the shooters rested gently near the heels of his hands. He’d already tested those out. One tap to shoot – two quick taps to cut. He’d also tested the webbing more in his private closet laboratory to see how long the webbing lasted for. The answer was five hours before it fell down, and another six hours before it properly dissolved. He knew he'd have to adjust that, too, since five hours was a bit excessive. Not to mention potentially dangerous. But, for tonight, he wasn't planning on causing anyone any trouble.

 

The pizza shop was located at the bottom of a four-story building, nestled in beside a row of five-story buildings. The alley behind it wasn’t particularly good for test swinging because it was too narrow, and he didn’t want to do his first test over top of a street, either. So he hopped across rooftops, hunting for the perfect building.

 

Manhattan would fit everything on his checklist, but it was too far for him if he was just running on rooftops.

 

His mind trailed as he leaped around. New York was a marvelous feat. The streets made sense, so they were easy for him to memorize in his mind. Over here is where drug dealers hung out – he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with that situation just yet, but he had them on his list. Over there was where kids used to dare each other to steal bikes. He’d already put a stop to that. ‘It’s not cool to steal, guys. Stay in school, study hard, and someday you could be like Iron Man.’

 

The boots Ms. Romanov had gifted him were engineering feats in their own rights as his toes stayed cozy no matter how many snowbanks he jumped into. A lot of places didn’t clean off their roofs, so there was a lot of that. Still, even the best boots couldn’t make up for an absent mind.

 

As Peter listed off things he knew about the current neighborhood in his mind, he didn’t pay attention to the world in front of him. He knew he could rely on his spider-sense to let him know if he was about to hit a wall and his body had an equilibrium that would make most cats quite jealous, so he allowed himself to look around as he ran.

 

Which was a mistake, since he also let himself forget about one of the biggest reasons he didn't normally visit this neighborhood.

 

His stomach still fell into his boots as he leaped over the next building and a familiar and unwanted sight came squarely into his view. ”Oscorp.” he whispered as his feet made contact with a patch of ice, sending him skidding right into the roof’s guardrail.

 

“Ooooo, ow.” He let his body sink down to let the pain pass. It didn’t matter if the bruises he’d just given himself would be gone in a couple of hours at most. They still hurt _now_.

 

As he sat there, he eyed the very building that had started all of his darkest nightmares…and, if he was being honest with himself, made all of his wildest dreams come true, too. That thought made him feel sick, so he refused to linger on it. He'd decided months ago that his story was a lot like Steve's – yeah, they both had powers now because something really bad had happened, but that bad origin didn't decide their futures. And Peter wanted to be just like his cousin. And he wanted to make May and Ben proud. And save May. How he got his powers didn't matter. He had them now.

 

Oscorp was the tallest building on this street, its imposing presence refusing to ever let people forget. Not everyone, of course. Most people had all too eagerly put the incident behind them. It didn't affect them, after all. Especially after it was determined that there had been no contamination beyond the blast zone.

 

Peter looked up at the facade as it loomed over the building he was on. From the outside, it looked like just any other building. It was just a tower. Some of the lights were on as some workers stayed late. That was pretty normal. He wondered how many people had stayed, and what had become of the people who didn't. The building seemed so benign, and yet Peter found his heart racing at the thought of going inside again. Especially with what he knew now. Or, rather, what he didn't know, since what the world knew wasn't true, but the truth was still just beyond his reach. It was a mess, whatever it was.

 

He did have to admit, though, it was the perfect building for what he wanted to do. It was on its own, not up against any other buildings, and it was twenty-six stories tall. That was pretty high. But he knew he could stick to it just fine since he’d done it before. He took a moment to peer down.

 

“They always say don’t look down...but that’s not so bad.” He’d jumped across rooftops this tall before.

 

But this time he was jumping _off_ this rooftop. That was a little different. He wasn’t too keen on spider-splatting on the pavement, and he was sure he couldn’t explain to Steve why he’d done it without giving away his secret. Assuming he survived, but he was pretty sure he could. He’d shatter his legs, but he’d probably live.

 

“I did want to do this,” he reminded himself. “It’s faster.” He’d done the math on that, too. Combining running on rooftops and swinging between buildings could increase his ability to get across neighborhoods by anywhere from 50 to 300%, depending on the neighborhood. “And if I get really good, I can tie people up. So no one gets hurt.” No more breaking people’s ribs on accident. He could still feel the crunch underneath his knuckles when he thought about it sometimes. He didn’t want to hurt people. “Not that Tarzan-ing across Queens is going to help me get better at that. But it does help for sneaking up on people. Ugh, come on Pete, just do it.”

 

The kid stood on two shaking legs that were only partly trembling because of the cold.

 

“One,” he said to himself, lifting his arm. “Two,” he pulled back his hand. “THREE!” and the web shot out. “Er…Three was supposed to be jump. But safety first. Right? Safety is good.” So Peter did an extra safety check. That was a good plan, since he hadn’t tested the webbing on many materials. What if ‘icy sandstone’ (or whatever these bricks were made of) was the material that webs couldn’t stick to? But, after giving it a tug with a good amount of his strength, since he didn't want to accidentally put a hole in the wall, if that was even possible, he was definitely sure that it was secure against Oscorp Lab’s highest floor.

 

“Ok. Well. Then. I guess...Four?” He carefully stepped on the rooftop’s guards. “Ok. Ok. Ok.” _Deep breath_. “Whew.” _Deeeep breath_. “Ok. And. FIVE!”

 

His boots left the railing as a shriek of terror was ripped violently from his lungs by his very upset sense of self-preservation.

 

Moments later, he belly-flopped onto the bricks of Oscorp. His chin scraped up against the limestone, as he scrambled to secure himself with his fingers and his toes. The warmest boots on the planet, it seemed, were not keen on sticking to the wall. He knew he should have given that more thought – their soles were much thicker than this usual sneakers soles. He didn’t need to be touching objects with his bare skin, but he’d already noticed that thick gloves were problems. He should’ve known better than to think these boots were somehow made from a magic that was exempt from the (admittedly almost magical) science of his spider-powers.

 

“Ok, ok, you’re ok. Ow.” He could feel a bit of warmth run down his chin. It would heal in a few hours, tops. But his chin wasn’t something that would be easy to hide when he got home. Maybe he could zip his coat all the way up and claim he was too cold.

 

“Test one, complete. Can swing. Into buildings. Good going. Test two, will it hold all of my weight?” He looked up to where the web was attached to the building. It wasn’t showing any signs of strain. So he let himself go. Well, he made sure to twist himself around so that his back was to the wall this time, but it was fine. He was fine.

 

“Now comes the crazy part.”

 

Down below, he saw some people leaving the office for the night. He remembered last Christmas when he and Ben would come to get May after a late shift, then they’d all go get Thai food for dinner.

 

Steve didn’t like Thai food very much. He’d still have some if Peter wanted it and there definitely were some options he was ok with, but overall if he was choosing he would usually choose something else. Even when Peter was making the dinner plans, the kid felt bad making him go eat things he didn’t really like.

 

Peter really did love his cousin, he knew that to be true. But he missed Ben, and he missed May. That was also true. He never let his mind linger on those thoughts because he knew, if he did, he’d get angry. Well, he was pretty sure he’d get angry. But he had cried last time. That was very new. And probably something he should’ve brought up with Dr. Keller, especially since there weren’t any safer topics than the one that he was in therapy for in the first place.

 

And yet, he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure why.

 

Down below, the last of the office lights on Peter’s side of the building flickered out. The kid decided to wait until that person left. “It’s not because I’m scared,” he insisted to the wind as it cried in his ears. It took the person entirely too long to leave, but eventually, they did. And Peter knew he had run out of excuses. “Ok, ok Parker. Now is the time to do this. Don’t be a coward. You’re related to Captain America!” He took a breath, and counted to ten, and then he kicked off.

 

He hit the end of the rope fairly quickly, but it didn’t snap. And then, for just a moment, he flew. With the web in his hand, he soared. “WOOOOO!” he let out as he swung his feet to turn around the corner of the building. “Take that, Oscorp!” he yelled as his arc brought him back to the building. He gave the wall a gentle punch, though even that caused the brick to crack. “Oops.”

 

Filled with confidence from his first test, Peter jumped from the building again, this time shooting a web back up as he fell. “NO!” he yelled as the web shot past the edge of the building – despite his self-defense training with Mr. Barton, no one had thought to pause to teach him how to aim. No one had thought that they would need to. _He_ hadn’t considered it. Buildings were huge, how could he miss?

 

Yet, in his entire life, he had never had a reason to need to be accurate when throwing things. He’d been blind as a bat and so awful at sports that it hadn't mattered before.

 

As he ground quickly approached, he knew, at the back of his mind, that he should remain calm, and yet there was the ground, fast approaching. There wasn’t time to think, and it seemed like his senses weren’t going to let him think, anyway. If he could draw the feeling, he would probably put squiggling lines around everything. His entire body was screaming louder than his brain could ever hope to, and the sound deafened any thoughts he could have hoped to have.

 

He realized, his arms were moving, his fingers were pressing down on the lever, and, as quickly as the panic had set in, he felt his body bounce against...something. Something ropey, and angled. Still, he didn’t dare open his eyes until his hands were once again sticking to the building wall. “How-“ he let out, when he finally saw what had happened. Even though he couldn’t think, his body had reacted, creating a web between the two buildings. Well, it wasn't a proper web in the geometric sense. A real spider would have been ashamed. But the lines created a loose hammock-like structure, which was just enough for an idiot teenager to safely fall into.

 

He wasn’t going to do that again, though. He’d had plenty enough of leaping off of tall buildings for one evening. But he could have, and he would have been safe. “Spider…instincts?” he reasoned. “That's a lot more than my spider-senses have done before.” It made sense, though. Like when the incident had occurred, he had moved and obeyed the paramedics without actually thinking. It was just instinct. His body was still obeying the commands that were being inputted into it. It just wasn’t verbal commands his body had received this time, but the commands of his spider-enhanced senses.

 

When he counted how far he had fallen, he found that he was now around the 5th floor.

 

“ _I take it since we’re here again, that means the good doctor won’t be returning after all?_ ” he heard. Immediately he pressed his body against the wall, but the lights were all still out.

 

“Burglars!” he gasped as all the hairs on his body felt like they were suddenly brought to attention.

 

“ _You might say she’s been…permanently relieved of duty,”_ the first person’s companion replied.

 

“ _That’s why we don’t break promises,”_ the first replied with a chuckle. Then Peter realized why his skin was crawling: he was right above Dr. Amadei’s office. And the voices were most definitely coming from inside that room. And, when he tried to peer inside, his Spider-tingling-senses immediately started crawling.

 

He quickly ducked when one of them glanced over their shoulder.

 

He usually only felt this way when he was in direct danger. The only other time his skin had started crawling like this was back in the museum. No one had been trying to punch him and he hadn’t been falling to his doom, but his senses had been on edge all the same. Crying for him to pay attention. To what, he still wasn’t sure. At least tonight it wasn’t hard to guess. Just the chance of one of them catching a glimpse of him was a danger.

 

And he still didn’t have his phone on him. Just like last time, he was the only person to pay witness to what was happening. “I’m going to need to do something about that tracker,” he grumbled as he carefully moved down the wall, peeking up into the window again. It was cracked open, and he appreciated the building’s heat against his cold nose.

 

Both of the men inside had their backs to him, and both were suited up like they were ready for, well, Peter would have guessed combat, but who could they be expecting to fight? His other guess was that it was all gear, for breaking and entering. Oscorp had probably improved its security after, well, everything.

 

“ _Looks like she wiped the computer since our last visit,”_ the second one continued. “ _Damnit. We probably should've done this before she left us.”_

 

“ _Did Mr. Ozzie keep backups of her work?”_

 

“ _If he did, I can’t access them from here. We’ll need to find a computer with more access.”_

 

“ _Hey, we’ve got all night.”_

 

Peter squinted at the two of them, trying to make out the logo on their vests. He could see a circle, and some lines. No, that was definitely a beak. “SHIELD!” he gasped. Too loudly. The maybe-burglars started to turn around, and Peter decided immediately to just let go. His body fell easily to the webs below as the agents ran to the window. By the time they’d slammed it open, he had dropped all the way down to the ground, ducking into the shadow of a dumpster.

 

Every pore on his body seemed to be vibrating even before he heard the distinctive _click_ of the agent’s gun. It must have had a silencer on it, because the shot itself was muffled.

 

They didn’t seem to know where he was, since the bullet didn’t even come close to his location. “What the Hell?” he heard one of them say.

 

His heart was pounding harder than the second-grade gym class where they’d discovered his arrhythmia in the midst of an asthma attack. His brain screamed ‘ _run run run run run_ ’ but his body hissed ‘ _don’t you dare move_.’

 

So he didn't. For several long moments, no one moved. He knew they were looking for him, or for signs of him. But, apparently, they couldn't see him from where they were.

 

“Stay here,” he heard one of the agents commanding. Peter heard the office door slam a moment later.

 

He knew if he stayed here, he would be found. He also knew he didn't have a good shot at just running.

 

But, for now, there was only one gun. The other was heading for the stairwell. This was his best opportunity to escape. Maybe his only chance.

 

Unfortunately, his senses weren't helping. Sure, sure, they were screaming DANGER DANGER louder than they ever had before, but that deep instinct from before had dissipated. Which, really, made sense. It was a danger-sensor, not future-sight. But it also meant no one and nothing was going to tell him what to do now.

 

So he lifted his trembling body up to peer at the window. The agent was looking towards the other end.

 

His trembling hand lifted up. He steadied it with his other hand. “Focus,” he told himself. “See the target.” The gun was pointing away, too. “Hit the target.” It would only take the other agent so much time to come down the few flights of stairs, even if the last floor was extra tall. So, ready or not, Peter took his shot, making sure to double-tap just as quick to cut the line.

 

And he missed.

 

The web adhered to the wall just on the other side of the window, immediately alerting the agent. Peter made a break for it anyway since, in that brief moment, he also saw the gun droop. Which meant it was the only moment when the agent wouldn't be completely ready to shoot. Which meant it was literally his only chance now.

 

It must have only taken three or four seconds for the super-muscles in his legs to propel him out to the main street, but that was also all the time that was needed for chaos to follow. The agent in the window shot after him, over and over, and the other agent burst out the door after him.

 

Also shooting. Because of course he was. He had a target, and he had a gun. Why would he not use it?

 

No doubt _someone_ would call the cops about this. If not tonight (they had silencers were doing a fantastic job of muffling the sound), then when they came to work the next day and there were bullet holes everywhere. Maybe there would be video...or maybe not. SHIELD was a spy organization, after all. They'd probably thought about recordings already.

 

The first guy found a new window to shoot from as Peter tried to run down the street, and Peter realized they could also (maybe? Probably) use those recordings to follow _him_ as he ran. Maybe he would lose them tonight, but what would stop them from tracking him down? They were _SHIELD_.

 

Which meant he couldn't just run for it.

 

Or, maybe he could tell them he was Captain America's cousin? They probably wouldn't believe that. At least, not before they shot him a lot. He wasn't sure how many people had been told. Maybe it was need-to-know and they weren't on that list. No, he couldn't risk that. He had to get away now and deal with the rest later.

 

And he had an idea of just how to do that. His arm darted up, sending another web at one of the buildings on the other side of the street, using his muscles to launch from the ground. A twinge of a burn echoed across the muscles in his thigh as he did so, but that, too, he would need to deal with later. As his body swung up, he aimed another web at another building, again using the momentum to lift himself even higher, and again, and again, until he was able to flip himself over a building and run into the chaos of his jungle city.

 

The teen didn't slow until he had crossed several neighborhoods, and even then he crawled up the side of the building he supposed would be the most difficult for them to also find their way up. There, he paused to breathe. His senses were calm again, though his heart was still racing and, for the first time since the bite, he found himself truly winded. _Is it enough,_ his mind questioned. “It has to be. For now.”

 

 _How much can they access? Can they get anything? Will they find me?_ “Will they know it's me?”

 

As he pressed his body up against the cold stone, he realized that his thigh was still burning. And cold. But burning. He slowly reached his hand down to his jeans, quickly finding a rip in the fabric, and he realized what must have happened. “Oh. I...wow. That...Hurts.” At least when he looked at his glove, he didn't see any blood.

 

Despite the pain and his trembling hands, he found that he was completely unconcerned with the injury. It was barely a graze, after all. It would heal soon enough. But what he'd just seen, and what he'd just heard...”Steve doesn't know. He can't. He can't be in on that. Whatever that is.”

 

He looked out at his city. It was a peaceful night, for New York. At least, from where he was sitting. He knew he had to go home. Even if Steve did know, there had to be a reason. A logical answer. Some top-secret spy stuff. Dr. Amadei was doing freaky experiments, after all. Who wouldn't want to get their hands on something that could give humans the abilities to, well, do everything Captain America could do and also stick to walls? Not that anyone knew that had been a result of that particular experiment. Probably.

 

It was what they'd said that left a pit in his stomach. 'Permanently retired.' Peter got the sense that she hadn't retired willingly.

 

And he knew...the people who had attacked Oscorp had specifically gone for May's lab. The lab where Amadei's experiments were being worked on.

 

“Steve has to know more than he's telling me.”

 

Maybe he knew what had really happened. Maybe he knew who had done it. And he wasn't telling Peter.

 

And Peter...had to go home. He had a curfew. And if he didn't meet curfew, Avengers would start freaking out.

 

So, he pushed himself up, trembling on knees that did not want to function, and hurried for the poorly-monitored back door of his apartment building. He took his mask and shooters and gloves off after he dropped back down to street level, rolling them all up and tucking them into his hoodie pocket.

 

Steve wasn't the kind of person to be ok with doing sketchy things. Which meant he didn't know about that. But...why didn't he know about that? He'd promised to look into things. All this time, Peter had assumed that meant he was using, well, his resources. But if he was using his resources, why didn't he know about this? Or, what if he did, but he wasn't telling Peter. It seemed like a kind of really important detail.

 

“What are you doing out here mumbling to yourself?” a voice came from his side, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin.

 

“M-m-ms. Romanov!” he managed to get out. He hadn't realized he'd been mumbling his thoughts out loud. He hoped he wasn't speaking clearly enough to give himself away.

 

“Hi. What are you doing out here?”

 

“Uhm…I…got lost…in my thoughts?”

 

“I can see that. Come inside.”

 

As the cold jackhammered in his pores, Peter knew he had to go inside. He knew he looked like the most suspicious person on the planet, just standing there staring at Black-freaking-Widow. Who could easily kill him. It didn’t matter if he was strong.

 

And it was stupid. He knew it was stupid. He knew there was no way. His senses weren’t trembling. Which meant that, even if she wasn’t quite the good person her hero-status would have the world believe, at least she probably didn’t have ill intent now. But then there was that voice, nagging at the back of his mind. Those were SHIELD agents. And they knew Dr. Amadei. They’d been _working_ with Dr. Amadei. And now, Dr. Amadei was…’permanently retired,’ as they’d put it.

 

Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark may not have been fans of shield, but Black Widow and Hawkeye _were_ SHIELD.

 

“Are...you ok?”

 

“Yes,” he replied immediately.

 

“Ok then. Come on. Everyone's worried about you. Don't make me carry you up.” As she headed in through the door, he saw her pull out her phone to text someone.

 

And he realized he’d forgotten his phone out at the pizza place. He had no other way to let Steve know he was fine, just running late. He had to go back to the apartment. Right now. With a SHIELD agent.

 

Even though his senses weren’t signaling any danger, Peter still pressed himself into a corner of the elevator. “…you know I won’t actually beat you up, right?” Ms. Romanov teased as she poked the button for their floor. “You wouldn’t stand a chance. That wouldn’t be any fun.” She smiled. Or, tried to. He was pretty sure she was forcing it on.

 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could muster in response. Her smile disappeared.

 

“Steve and Tony should be back soon. Did you lose your phone?”

 

“No?” His hands dipped into his pockets. “...Yes.” He'd left it back at the pizza place. In his gloves. Under stairs. That wasn't the most suspicious place on the planet, but it wasn't obvious, either.

 

“I'm sure they'll get it for you.”

 

“They tracked me?”

 

“Have you seen what time it is? You were supposed to check-in.”

 

“...oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Peter trained his eyes on his shoes. The ones that Ms. Romanov had given him. “Uhm...I don't think...I thanked you. For the boots. They're good boots.”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

“Welcome home, Sir,” Jarvis greeted as they slipped in through the front door. When they made their way to the living room, Peter noticed that Mr. Barton was also here.

 

“What-”

 

“Layover,” the man was quick to explain. “We're heading out in the morning. Just stopped in for dinner.”

 

“Oh.” Peter didn't dare pull his hands from his pockets. They were still shaking. He needed to escape up to his room. But...Ms. Romanov and Mr. Barton were SHIELD. And, now that he'd had a chance to breathe, he realized that they might know what Steve wasn't telling him. And they were Avengers. They were good guys. He knew that. They'd always been so good to him, at least. And they'd saved the world. Wouldn't he be suspicious of some guy in a ski mask sticking to a wall outside his window, anyway? “Uhm, so, how, uh, is the investigation into Oscorp going?”

 

“The what?”

 

“I know, I know I'm not supposed to know stuff, but Steve promised he'd look into it. Is there...news?” He glanced between their faces. Ms. Romanov's brows pushed together. Mr. Barton's face was rather blank. “You know, the...incident-”

 

“Kid, the lab blew up, there isn't much to look into.”

 

“...He didn't tell you?”

 

“Tell us what?”

 

“The lab was attacked. It didn't blow up. I-I saw it. The lab wasn't blown up. I was _in_ the lab. It was fine.”

 

“He didn't tell us,” Ms. Romanov cut in. “We'll talk to him. But...you also shouldn't get your hopes up. If SHIELD does have information, it's probably top secret. And you don't even have level one clearance.”

 

His hands balled up into fists in his coat pocket. “I don't care about secrets! I just want to know if May is alive! I just...I just want her home.”

 

“Ok. We'll look into it.”

 

“That's what Steve said! In _September_!” His voice was raising without his permission. The two agents looked a bit upset themselves. They hadn't known. Steve hadn't told them. Or they were fantastic actors. They were international spies, after all. But something in Peter's gut told him this was a true reaction. “I know SHIELD knows _something_.”

 

“And we'll look into it. Peter, you have to trust us.”

 

“Why should I?”

 

“Because we care about you,” Mr. Barton cut in, his tone almost reminding Peter of his mom's voice when she tried too soothe his fears after the first time he'd watched Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. But this was far more serious than a couple of scary scenes in an adventure movie. “We aren't lying to you, and I'm sure Steve wasn't either. We'll talk to him, and we'll find out...what we can find out, and tell you what we can tell you. And...if we find May, we'll bring her home to you. I promise.”

 

“Welcome home-” they heard Jarvis greet as two more people came into the penthouse.

 

“Speak of the devil.”

 

“Would you mind telling me why state of the art, one of a kind Stark tech was shoved in a pair of gloves-” Peter heard Mr. Stark starting in, but he took a chance and cut him off.

 

“I didn't want the circuits to get cold. And, it must have fallen out of my pocket. I'm sorry.”

 

“You didn't-are you serious? The circuits will be _fine_. Which is more than can be said about your fingers. Your body doesn't care about your fingers when its cold out. If something is going to fall off from the cold, it's going to be your fingers.”

 

“Right. Sorry.” He realized Steve was staring at him, and he couldn't meet the man's gaze. “I'm going to bed.”

 

Before anyone could say anything else, he made his way up the stairs. The night may have been fine, if that was where it had been left. In the comfort of his room, Peter changed into his comfortable pajamas, taking stock of his injury. He'd give it 24 hours to heal, and that was being generous. The bullet had left a burn along with taking off the top few layers of skin, but he didn't think it'd be too different than his other injuries. His broken nose had healed up within a few days, and every burn he'd had was gone within a day or two. That would be fine.

 

He would be fine.

 

But would May be fine?

 

“What does Steve know,” he whispered.

 

“What was that, Mr. Parker?”

 

“...I need some privacy.” With that, he grabbed his laptop and locked himself in his bathroom, making sure to turn on the fan to further drown out Jarvis.

 

He needed to collect his thoughts. He needed to figure out...anything. Nothing made sense. Was SHIELD working with Dr. Amadei?

 

They didn't seem pleased with her. They had definitely been there to get information. And her lab was the lab that had been attacked.

 

SHIELD wouldn't do that, would they?

 

Downstairs, the four adults finally dug into their dinner. Bruce and Pepper were back at the lab. Tomorrow they were going to cure her. Tony didn't think they needed all this fuss, he was sure it was going to work, but everyone, including Pepper, wanted to be safe.

 

“I think we need to get Peter a new therapist,” Steve sighed. “He always seems to be more upset after his visits.”

 

“It is their job to cut open all your most painful memories and destroy your spirit,” Tony grumbled.

 

“That's not what therapy is for.”

 

“Oh right, my mistake. That's just what they _do_ instead.”

 

“I think they talked about May today,” Clint mentioned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. Steve realized that his friend was glaring. Nat too, when he looked at her. “He said the lab was attacked. And you promised to look into it. He seemed to think you'd told us about that.”

 

“I...yes. I promised him I would look into Oscorp. A few months ago he broke into Oscorp. He found May's badge. I don't know what he saw, but I know what he believes he saw. And I believe him. Maybe the lab did blow up, maybe that is the answer. But I don't think whatever happened...happened the way they said it did.”

 

“Of course it didn't,” Tony replied. “Corporations are always covering up their failures. At a minimum, I bet they had a few safety regulations they were refusing to adhere to. It's Oscorp. Norman loves to cut corners, in his research and in his business practices.”

 

“Why didn't you tell us about it?” Nat asked, ignoring Tony.

 

“Because...well, all of you were busy with your own things. And I wanted to see if I could prove him right. Find some clue, other than a badge that she could've just dropped in the halls on her way in. I always trust my instincts, but my instincts...aren't clear on this one. He could just have been seeing what he wanted to see.”

 

“But you think he really did see something.”

 

“I do.”

 

“So we'll look into it.”

 

“We have an 18-hour flight tomorrow,” Clint told him. “That's plenty of time to do some research. And if I don't find anything, we'll talk to Fury.”

 

“Oh, he'll actually talk to you?” Tony scoffed.

 

“If most of the Avengers tell him they want a meeting, I'm sure he'll make some time, no matter how grouchy he'll be about it.”

 

“I can hear it already.” Tony puffed up and took in a deep breath so he could do his best Nick Fury impression. “'You called me here to entertain a teenager's delusions? You're wasting my time!' Yeah. That'll go over well.”

 

“Does that mean you'll help us?” Steve asked him.

 

“Of course I'll help you! I love it when Fury's upset.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being supportive and understanding last week! The rest definitely let me kick the cold faster than I usually would. 
> 
> As for this chapter, sorry it took so long today. I was giving it one last re-read and realized there were two things that I was trying to have happen that just were not working. I know one I can move to the next chapter, but the other one...I'm not sure when or how I'll make it work. But I need to, so that will take a bit of thinking and re-planning. But, for now, Peter is realizing just how small he truly is. 
> 
> (Also, while I was checking the SHIELD clearance levels, I learned that Clint has the highest clearance of the Avengers who have SHIELD clearance, which I suppose makes sense, given Nat's history and Steve's out-of-time-good-hearted-ness. Of course, none of that matters when Hydra is busy behind the scenes enacting their own plans.)


	21. Chapter 20

After that night, Steve noticed a stark change in Peter. He was more wary, more reserved. He certainly wasn’t as jovial, even when Steve tried to get him to explain some new millennium thing. That used to be a lot of fun for both of them, since Steve was able to learn something and it was something small Steve could do to make sure Peter knew how important he was. After all, who understood new-millennium life better than someone who had only ever existed in this new millennium? Especially when it came to things like ‘memes’ and ‘trolls’ online. The internet made quite a bit more sense with Peter around. Only, now Peter was less interested in helping, and his answers were shorter, too.

 

Even more eerie, Steve also noticed that Peter was watching him much more closely. Well, when they were both around. He didn’t seem to be watching Tony the same way, and he wasn’t at all worried about Pepper or Bruce. It wasn’t hard to figure out that something had happened that Friday that made Peter regress. The internet said that could happen, since mental healing was not always constant progress. But it hurt that this regression seemed to be centered around him.

 

During the war, he remembered visiting hospitals from time to time. There were horrors to be seen there, definitely. But the greatest horror was what it was doing to the minds of the young men and women who were fighting each day. He hadn’t exactly had the chance to see what came after, though. Some of them went home, some of them went back to the lines – everyone soldiered on.

 

So had he.

 

Some days, he felt like he was still soldiering on. There was certainly no shortage of battles to fight, even now, in times of supposed peace. If it weren’t for his duties, he wasn’t sure what would become of him. But here, with SHIELD, he still had a purpose to guide him.

 

And he had Peter. He’d always thought someday, maybe, he’d have a family. Kids of his own and a cute little house. Just like everyone else always seemed to have once they reached a certain age. He hadn’t actually given thought to if he really wanted that, or what that would mean if and when it happened. He liked it. Sure, they didn’t have a house, and their home was far too fancy, but it was nice to have someone to come home to every night. Someone he knew was counting on him. It kept him grounded, and it kept him focused.

 

Since Peter had brought home May’s badge, he had been digging into both SHIELD’s database and the internet. He had to give it to Peter, everything around this incident was suspicious. At first he hadn't been sure if that was just due to the over-sensationalized way everything was discussed these days or because something was actually fishy, and nothing he'd found had cleared things up. The news could have shifted to blaming the victims because they were ordered to, or because that was what had happened and being over-zealous and, honestly, rather cruel brought the network more money. There were certainly conspiracy theories of all sorts of strokes, ranging from ones who agreed with Peter to ones who claimed it was a hoax to ones who claimed that it was all done on purpose by the people who'd died.

 

None of that was helpful. Even the SHIELD files he had access to sang the same tunes as the news. SHIELD was, of course, watching Oscorp…just like they were watching Stark Enterprises, and every other powerful company. If he wanted, he could know the location of every Oscorp-owned building. He could look at all sorts of known facts about what the company was working on. And most of that information was also available on the internet. He wasn't sure if this was unusually sanitized or normal for SHIELD files. So he'd been spending months researching each of his assignments the same way, so that he would have a point of comparison.

 

That had also been mixed. He had certainly become well aware that he was running in circles. He just hadn't realized how stubborn he was being about it, or how comforting it would be to have people he trusted helping him again. It was different than before, but he knew he could count on them.

 

Clint and Nat used their avenues to learn what they could, which left Steve and Bruce to keep Tony from doing something that would draw SHIELD's ire. They needed to save that for if and when they truly needed it, and, so far, it was certainly looking like the news stories were right. But Steve had a gut feeling, and his friends were willing to trust that feeling, despite how crazy it seemed and how little information he had to go on. But his gut was always right, and his gut was sure that at least something fishy was happening.

 

Not even Clint, who had the highest authorization among them, was able to turn up much more information, other than a few hints that there wasn't currently anyone undercover at Oscorp. According to Nat, that usually meant that Oscorp just wasn’t interesting enough for more attention right now, but SHIELD was ready in case they did become interesting at some point in the future.

 

None of them bought that, though.

 

So, as Tony hunted for new and ever more creative ways to avoid going to the doctor and everyone else’s curiosity kept raising, they decided it was time to check in with the director.

 

The director did not agree with them. But they’d expected that. There hadn’t been much personal contact since the attack on New York and after what had happened to Coulson. Apparently, that was normal for Fury. Steve had gotten special treatment at first because, well, he was Captain America, pulled out of an ice cube after 70 years, and even Director Fury had a soft spot.

 

Thankfully, that soft spot was still working in their favor. Fury was too busy, of course, but he did find someone he could send. “This seems a bit extravagant for one teenager,” Maria commented as she looked out from their balcony’s window. The rest of the Earth-bound Avengers were gathered in the living room.

 

“You try finding a nice place on short notice,” Tony grumbled back. “The smaller places were all old. It would have been a nightmare to install security.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes were focused on a photo hanging on the wall, which was the start of a collage Steve hoped to eventually have (an idea, he had to admit, he'd gotten off the internet). It was a ‘selfie.’ Maybe. Steve thought that was the correct term. He’d taken the photo of himself and Peter in their Christmas sweaters. The sweaters were absolutely awful, but apparently that was the point. In the picture, Peter was grinning from ear to ear as Steve engulfed his tiny body in a one-armed hug. Tony had been kind enough to get it printed and framed for them. At least, that was how Steve was choosing to interpret the act, despite how much Tony had laughed at the picture. “Let’s stop wasting time. There are no global catastrophes or even any national catastrophes, so what is so important that the Avengers felt the need to call Fury? If you haven’t met a new alien-“

 

“It’s about Oscorp,” Clint cut her off. “Peter seems to think that it wasn’t a lab accident. He thinks someone attacked them. And he gave Steve evidence.”

 

“And if there’s a cell out there that’s targeting Oscorp, who knows what repercussions that could have, given some of the things they’ve been studying,” Nat added.

 

“And we don't need any repeats of, well, reckless scientists ignoring all common sense in the pursuit of whatever their goal is,” Bruce concluded as he drank his tea.

 

Maria paused to look at each of them in turn. Steve couldn’t tell what she was thinking, or what she might be hiding. That was definitely a skill that had helped her rise in the ranks of SHIELD, but it was frustrating now. “What kind of evidence?” she finally asked.

 

“We called to find out what  _you_  know about this,” Tony said. She paused again. Steve couldn’t help but get the feeling that they’d caught her off guard, which couldn’t have been an easy feat, given her position.

 

“If we determine that you need to know that information, then you’ll know it,” she finally said in a firm tone. “Let me know what you know and I’ll see if that changes things.”

 

“That’s not how this is-“

 

“He went back to Oscorp,” Steve said before Tony let his dislike for SHIELD ruin any chances they had at finding information. “After the incident. The clean-up crew left the back door open, so he went in, and he says he saw the lab. And it wasn’t, well, in the sort of state you’d expect a room to be in after there was an explosion in it.”

 

“…that’s your evidence?” she chided. “Look, I don’t want to be the one to doubt a traumatized kid here, but he  _is_ a traumatized kid.”

 

“I know. I’ve thought about that, too. But he is really sure of it. He said the lab wasn’t blown up, but the rest of the floor was. And he found his aunt’s ID badge in the lab, and  _I’ve_  seen that. It’s completely undamaged. And I know, it could have been outside of the lab. He could have just convinced himself that it was something different than what it was. But…I still want to know for sure.”

 

“And, like I said before,” Nat added, “if the kid is right, and someone did attack an Oscorp lab, we should find out what they were after, before they can use it for something worse. They already had a weapon that could melt human skin.”

 

“There’s a lot of weapons that can do that,” Maria said, though now there was a clear sound of concern in her tone. Nat was right, after all. And SHIELD had chased down leads with less information than this before. The modern world was full of the kinds of dangers Hydra could have only dreamed of back during the war. They wouldn’t have passed up the opportunity to get their hands on just Tony’s suit’s pinky, let alone everything else Steve had seen these last two years.

 

“So, what do you know?” Tony tried again.

 

“If you need to know-“

 

“I can get the information myself if you don’t tell us.”

 

“Tony,” Steve said firmly. Even now, Tony loathed SHIELD. He didn’t even try to hide it, especially after how Loki's attack had been handled. Tony was convinced that New York never would have been under threat of nuking if SHIELD hadn't been involved. Steve couldn't say he completely disagreed. But Steve also needed him to pull back for now, just in case they did need to hack into SHIELD behind someone’s back. The last thing they needed was him drawing attention to the possibility.

 

“You could,” Maria agreed. “But I can guarantee you will regret it if you do.”

 

“Tony,” Steve pressed again when his friend started to speak. Instead, with a huff, the inventor excused himself to the kitchen. He was trying hard to use alcohol as a coping mechanism anymore. Which meant that he was constantly drinking whatever else was in the fridge whenever he would have grabbed something else before. “Sorry about that.”

 

“I’ll take your concerns back to Fury,” was her reply. “And he’ll let you know.”

 

“And what do I tell Peter in the meantime?”

 

“Nothing, would be best. If Natasha is right, then this won’t be something he should be involved in at any level. The less he knows, the better.”

 

“If you were thirteen, would you accept that?” Clint asked her. She didn't answer.

 

“I'll call you if I have something to tell you. In the meantime, keep up the good babysitting work.”

 

“Bruce really isn't a threat.”

 

“I wasn't talking about him.” Her eyes darted towards the kitchen before she showed herself to the door.

 

“That went...as expected,” Nat sighed. “Have you thought about what you'll tell Peter if they don't actually find anything?”

 

“I...I've been reading books on how to break bad news to kids,” Steve confessed. “But they don't exactly address catastrophic events.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We'll keep looking,” Clint promised. “But we need to get going, too.”

 

“Riiight, the 'birthday party,'” Bruce laughed. He thought it was a mission name, but Clint and Nat were actually going to a birthday party. It was his daughter's birthday. But he still hadn't told anyone else, and, as much as Steve wanted to meet the infamous Barton kids, he didn't want to raise any unnecessary suspicions. They were deep in hiding for a reason. An international super-spy with small children was not the best combination.

 

Though, the team was handling Peter quite well. Maybe, one day, they'd all be able to go visit.

 

That evening, Peter stayed out late, as usual, though he did sneak in right before check-in. Steve almost missed him because he had headphones on, listening to a new history series he'd discovered to help fill in even more of the gaps he'd missed. This one was focused on news reporting through the decades, especially the transition from radio to TV.

 

Peter didn't stop to greet his cousin like he'd used to. Steve vowed to find him a new therapist. Or at least find someone he could talk to so he could know if this was normal.

 

The teen found Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark in the kitchen when he went to grab food. He hadn't had a snack after classes and, despite his best efforts, he needed to eat. His spider-ified-DNA demanded it. He'd been trying to check-in at check-in time and come back around curfew, but that only worked when he got something to eat right after school. He was starting to realize just how quickly he could fade when he didn't eat. Swinging around town required his full attention. He couldn't be hungry out there.

 

He was also still highly paranoid. Even though it had been another uneventful week and SHIELD hadn't come breaking down their door and Steve hadn't sat him down, he still didn't want to put it past them. Maybe they were lying in wait. Maybe they were just watching to see if he became useful.

 

Maybe they were going to 'permanently retire' him if he wasn't useful.

 

He still didn't know for sure what that meant, but he suspected that Dr. Amadei hadn't 'permanently retired' of her own accord.

 

The teen was aware of the two men watching him as he pulled out leftovers – pork chops and mashed potatoes and a hearty homemade gravy. He made sure to be mindful to only heap on a normal-looking amount of food. Though he wasn't entirely sure he knew what normal was anymore. Steve never seemed to worried about how much he was eating, and so they'd both always just eaten as much as they needed to. Now, he needed to be very aware. Just in case.

 

Even though these were the two people who had scoffed at SHIELD, and made jokes about SHIELD. “Uhm, h-hi?” he mumbled as he stuck his plate in the microwave.

 

“Have a good day at school?” Mr. Stark replied.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I heard you were in what, math club? Band? Other nerdy stuff?”

 

“I was. In some...not anymore. I, uh...everyone was always staring. So now I work on your lessons.”

 

“Ohhh, you were at the tower then?”

 

“...no. I was...uhm. Games. Board games, video games, tabletop roleplaying games...there's a really cool gaming cafe up on-”

 

“Don't need to know more.” Peter had started keeping his phone at a gaming cafe. On top of it, to be precise. It didn't have easy rooftop access, so it was a great place to leave invaluable Stark tech.

 

“Have you been, uh, feeling ok, lately?” Dr. Banner picked up.

 

Peter took in a deep breath. He knew he was acting weirder than before. He knew, logically, they might just be normal worried, rather than 'SHIELD knows your secrets and might come after you' worried. He reminded himself that these were the Avengers. They could be trusted.

 

_But maybe SHIELD can't be. What if they don't know?_

 

“Yeah,” he said. “I just...uhm...You guys...don't like SHIELD, do you?”

 

“Hell no,” Mr. Stark retorted immediately.

 

“They're not...bad,” Dr. Banner added. “But they're still part of the government.”

 

“You don't trust the government?” Peter pried, his heart starting to race. What if it was deeper than SHIELD? What if it was like those movies, where if you knew too much, you disappeared, because the government made you disappear? And SHIELD was just the guys who did the deed?

 

“Well, yes and no. They do a great job at some things, but they can also be...trouble. Especially when they want something but can't have it. SHIELD is like that. It's good that we have them, but I'm much happier when they keep their distance.”

 

“Is that what's been upsetting you?” Mr. Stark asked. Peter hadn't realized that he'd noticed, too. He didn't seem to pay attention to Peter at all. Which meant Peter needed to put in more effort, if Mr. Stark was noticing.

 

Or maybe Steve was talking to him. They were friends. And now that Pepper was better and getting back to work, Mr. Stark was apparently procrastinating by hanging around New York. Which meant he was apparently their new roommate for a while. Which meant Steve was getting plenty of hang-time with Mr. Stark.

 

Peter took another deep breath. Over-thinking every little move was causing him far more problems than it was solving. He did know that his senses never alerted him that he might be in danger here. Though he wasn't completely sure they worked the way he'd assumed they worked, since he'd started feeling that tingle out on the streets, even when the streets were completely dead.

 

His fist clenched around the fork he was holding, and he realized it was bending to the grooves of his fingers.

 

“Pete, you know we're here for you,” Dr. Banner said. They were watching him. Thankfully, the microwave went off. He grabbed his plate so he could hurry up to the safety of his room.

 

“I know. Thank you.” He deftly stepped around Steve as his cousin came to the kitchen.

 

“Pete-” his cousin tried.

 

“I have homework.”

 

“Ok. Well, just make sure you wash your plate before you go to bed. Have a good night.”

 

“I will...goodnight.”

 

The men watched as the teen seemed to vanish into thin air. “He's smarter than I thought,” Tony stated as he wrapped his hand around his fork, trying to bend it with just one hand. “He doesn't like SHIELD. Oof, how did he bend this?”

 

“They're fairly cheaply made,” Steve said as he took the fork away.

 

“Yeah, but isn't he supposed to be super weak and sickly and stuff?”

 

“Is he?” Dr. Banner asked. “He seems fine to me.”

 

“That's what the good Captain said when he called me for help with medical bills and shelter.”

 

Steve grabbed Tony's fork from him as he started to bend it out of shape. “I did. And now I'm waiting on more information before I come to any new conclusions.” Kids rarely grew out of bad eyesight or heart problems. Broken noses and serious burns took weeks to properly heal. Good drinking glasses didn't crack just because an average-strength person clenched their fists around them.

 

And yet, Peter had grown out of his conditions. He had healed from his broken nose in a few days. And somehow he kept breaking and bending all kinds of dishes and utensils with just his hands.

 

“Are you keeping more secrets?”

 

“Please, leave this one alone for now. I don't want to jump to conclusions...and I don't want to drive Peter further away.” That was all that needed to be said for the other two to understand. They'd been watching, too. They'd noticed Peter's little oddities and everything that didn't match.

 

“So that's why you're so suspicious of Oscorp,” Dr. Banner whispered. “Do you really think they might be experimenting on humans? On kids?” Hearing the thought out in the open made Steve's gut clench up. 

 

“I don't want to jump to conclusions. I don't...want that to be the case.”

 

“You might not have a choice in that.”

 

“I know. But whatever is happening, whatever has happened, Peter's with us now. And nothing else is going to happen to him.”

 

Tony grabbed some apple juice from the refrigerator and poured himself another glass. “Well, then,” he grumbled. “We should probably re-think what we're teaching him then, hm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking while writing this that, given what we know now post Captain Marvel, technically Fury could’ve sent either the real Maria Hill or a shape-shifter pretending to be her, depending on how generous he was feeling. So I want to say here that this is the real Maria Hill. Fury may be cranky but he does still have some respect for the Avengers, even if he’ll never tell them that. 
> 
> I mostly wrote this chapter over the last 3 days, since the stuff I wanted to put in the last chapter didn't work out but I couldn't just jump right into the chapter that is now next week's chapter right away. Most of that stuff is still shifted to next week, but I realized probably too late that taking pause to assess where Steve's at right now might just be the bridge I needed to get where I wanted to go. I'm posting it so early this Monday because I won't be home until late tonight (I really should've been asleep two hours ago oops), then I'm hoping next week might also be a bit early since I will have a lot of time to write and polish this week.


	22. Chapter 21

The sun was still setting so early, even though the winter solstice had been nearly a month ago. New York City’s winter weather was not kind to those who insisted being out after the sun set.

 

Still, Peter could hardly remember ever being quite as cold as he had been this year. The temperatures didn’t seem to be any lower than normal, even at night, but still his cheeks felt like sheets of ice, even under his mask. Maybe it was because he was spending so much time outside, or maybe it was because he was spending so much more time higher off the ground. The wind was definitely stronger from the high perches that he’d found for himself, but the view of the neighborhoods was also better from up there.

 

It had been two weeks since the SHIELD-at-Oscorp incident. He was starting the testing phase for some new spider-bugs he’d made. He’d attached a few to some various hotspots in the area to see what he could learn, and they fed right back into a radio that he’d found in a dumpster and fixed up just for this purpose. That would need an upgrade, one of these days, but for now it was the best he had. (He was also thinking about how to un-suspiciously ask for some extended toolkits for his birthday to make further efforts easier, but on the other hand he also wasn’t sure he could wait that long.)

 

So far, it seemed like it was going to be a quiet night. People weren’t keen on hanging out in places where vigilantes showed up, and Oscorp wasn’t being uniquely interesting.

 

No one mentioned any SHIELD agents being spotted around or in the building, not even the higher-up corporate types, though Peter was fairly sure that they had to have someone helping them out. Security was too tight for a stranger to just pretend to be an Oscorp worker and sneak in, or even for easy break in. Though, he also supposed there was a lot he didn’t know about spy work. He’d never had to think like a spy before. Maybe they had their own ways and didn’t need someone on the inside. After all, they’d come to get the data themselves.

 

‘Normie,’ as the workers loved to mockingly call him, was also moving all the good stuff to his shiny new, and supposedly far safer, science center and turning this building more into an office center with a few non-chemical studies. That at least seemed like a good, very sensible safety move. More levels of security prevented explosions, but they also might prevent attacks on unsuspecting scientists and lab assistants.

 

That didn’t include Dr. Amadei’s projects. Those were being completely shut down and shoved into storage. A lot of people were upset about that because they’d heard good things about the projects. The people that had been working on those projects who hadn’t been killed or ‘killed’ were truly angry that they wouldn’t be able to continue the research. Peter knew from the files he’d stolen that there had been a lot of good people chasing after good causes working on her projects.

 

The workers seemed confident that they thought it was because no one knew which one caused the explosion. They were all completely certain that none of them wanted to be melted. But Peter knew that Normie knew that it wasn’t an explosion. He just didn’t know how involved the man was in what had actually happened. Pepper had taught him that there was a lot that the public never found out just because she didn’t want to create a frenzy, and media outlets loved nothing more than a frenzy (since those brought in the most money). Peter wanted to hope that maybe Normie just didn’t want to terrify all of New York. Maybe he was working with SHIELD to prevent a new attack!

 

 _But, if that’s the case, why hasn’t Steve told me?_ his thoughts demanded. It didn’t add up.

 

Yet, SHIELD had definitely been here. And Dr. Amadei seemed to be with them before her forceful and untimely ‘retirement.’ It was all such a mess. It had caused his nightmares to resurface with a whole new vengeance (now, the SHIELD half of the Avengers were also after him). So, for now, until he had more information, he tried very hard not to think too hard about it. He just needed facts. Facts would lead to answers. And, at the moment, he did not have very many facts.

 

So he’d also busied himself with trying to figure out the penthouse perp. The guy hadn’t struck again throughout November, but he’d come back twice in December and again on New Year’s – which, really, that was the ideal time to strike the penthouses of the wealthy while they were out at some fancy party that they’d probably be at all night. The police seemed to think the fire had spooked him, so now he was being more cautious, but ‘once a criminal, always a criminal,’ as one of the really gruff guys had said.

 

Between the department’s complaints about working with other annoying people that they usually liked to avoid and everyone competing to see who could bring the guy in first (and, in at least two cases that Peter knew about, bringing in wrong guys to try and win bragging rights), Peter was learning the pattern of what kind of things were being stolen. Designer clothes, shoes, and jewelry were among the most common losses, but the perp had also started going after art and décor. One of a kind things were never taken, though. So couture clothes and specially-designed art pieces were left alone. Probably because they would be easy to find and trace back to the thief. With how much time he’d had on New Year’s, he’d also gotten away with a billionaire’s furniture, which had included a chair made from gold.

 

They also had very limited footage of the burglaries, but Peter suspected having a weapon that could cause surges and power outages and fires probably helped with that. Though the reports also sounded like the perp was probably fairly technically savvy himself.

 

The days after New Year’s hadn’t been fruitful for anyone hunting the perp. But Peter still went out and listened. Besides, it gave him a chance to practice even more by doing his usual ‘good little spider-boy’ routine of stopping the pettiest of thefts, stepping in the middle of little arguments, and helping all kinds of people across the icy streets. Sometimes he even just carried them, when it was icy and they gave him permission. Sometimes, but only when there was no reasonable alternative, he just jumped in front of speeding vehicles.

 

That terrified drivers, but he definitely had no problems catching regular sized cars. One time he’d even caught a minivan.

 

He was learning a lot, too. Like how it was a good idea to keep his sneakers in his backpack and trade those for the boots when he was on patrol. The boots were basically magic in the form of a shoe, but his sticking abilities worked better on the ice than boots soles did.

 

As he watched over his city, the sound of a revving engine and screeching tires reached his ears. Without thinking twice, the teen leapt from his rooftop, shooting off a web to allow his body to swing effortlessly through the streets. “Why do people insist on going so fast in residential areas?” he groaned as he spotted a small, unbranded moving truck – a  _moving truck_  of all things! – going well over the speed limit, paying no mind as it took off a few car mirrors as it went. “Don’t they realize they could hit-Oh no!” Just as he was speaking, as though the universe heard his words and just had to prove him right, he spied a child running at the corner, and the truck wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down.

 

With a quick fwip of a web and a kick off from the building beside him to re-orient his trajectory, Peter was able to propel himself down just in time to catch the child out of the street.

 

The driver honked at him. “SLOW DOWN!” he yelled back as he let himself swing. Landing was fairly easy, but he still hadn’t figured out a good way to stop and land while carrying things. His bookbag was one matter. If it hit the ground or got dirty that was fine. It could be replaced. But the same couldn’t be said for a child. So he held the kid tight in one arm, using his legs to guide them to the safety of a nearby building. “You alright?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Pretty cool, huh?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Peter was very careful to keep hold of the child as he slowly crawled down the side of the building. This time it wasn’t hard. There was no screaming or thrashing, or punching, as had happened one time he’d done this. Kid punches didn’t hurt, but they were great at obstructing his view. This kid was just frozen to his side, though. Which he knew was because the kid was terrified, but he appreciated how much easier it made things. He was able to get down to the ground and set the kid down without any incidents.

 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” the mom called out, pulling her child close. She had another, smaller toddler scooped up in her free arm. After a quick ‘this is why we don’t run ahead!’ she turned back to the teen in front of her. “Come on now, say thank you to mister, uh-“

 

“Spider-Man,” he said with confidence. Everyone was still giggling at the name, but he was also still growing into it. In time, it would fit. Until then, it was a goal.

 

“Spider-Man,” she echoed gently.

 

“Ooooh, a supa-hewo?” the smaller child squealed from her arms. “SMASH-MASH!”

 

“I don’t smash, that’s Hulk’s thing,” he corrected. Still, as soon as he saw the pout forming on the kid’s tiny face, he couldn’t help himself. He had to do something. “I…do flips!” Since he said it, he had to do it, so he stepped back and easily did a flip, just for them. Four months ago he could barely jump half a foot off the ground because he was so unathletic. Now he could do flips all day and not tire out.

 

“Yaay!”

 

“Now, both of you, make sure you listen to your mother, stay close, no running into traffic, and get home safe.” The kid who’d bolted was still adhered to the mom’s leg as though it was a high-power magnet.

 

“You head home too, Mr. Spider-Man,” the mother lightly scolded. “The temperatures are supposed to drop even more tonight. The forecast mentioned negatives.” She paused to fix her kids’ hats, as though the mere thought of it somehow getting even colder out might freeze their little ears off. “I can’t imagine your mom would be very happy if you got sick.”

 

His heart clenched at her words, but all he mustered in response was a firm “Yes ma’am.”

 

It wasn’t that he intended to stay out until the last possible moment. It was just that, between his nightmares and all the information he didn’t know and all the information Steve might know but be keeping from him, he wasn’t sure he could make himself act normal for very long at home. Out here, he was free to be and feel. Out here, there were no lies.

 

The later he got home, the easier it was to just say ‘I’m tired’ and leave it at that. And he wouldn’t have to explain anything, and he wouldn’t have to face anything. And he wouldn’t have to find out if Steve was just full of lies.

 

He wasn’t sure he could bear finding out that Steve was keeping things from him. He didn’t want to keep losing.

 

He wanted Ben, and May. And his mom.

 

Peter was just so tired of losing people.

 

As the mom wandered off with her children, Peter thought back on when his own mom had walked him home from school, and then Ben in turn. They always held his hand tight, but only if he wanted them to. Ben had seemed so sad when Peter stopped holding his hand, but becoming independent was a part of growing up. “Growing up is a big responsibility,” he’d reminded Peter the first time the kid walked to school by himself. “Are you sure you’re ready for it?”

 

He wasn’t, thinking back. He was worried about bullies. Tyler – the guy who loved to throw dodgeballs at people’s faces – had reveled in giving kids wedgies in elementary school. Peter hated wedgies, but the walk to school would give (and had given) Tyler ample room to give out plenty of them. His buddies had also regularly stolen Peter’s glasses. They’d give them back, of course, because everyone would (correctly, but that was beside the point) blame them otherwise. But they always made sure to lick them before handing them over.

 

Despite his fears, he’d said he was ready.

 

And now he really  _really_  had to be ready – ready to stand on his own, ready to take that responsibility, ready to step up where other people weren’t willing to. Someone had to look out for the people that everyone else forgot about. Someone had to think about May Parker the way the police were obsessing over the Penthouse Perp. As important. As worth their time.

 

Peter was just about to listen to the mom (he could certainly use an extra-long hot shower tonight anyway), but he decided to do one last check on the radio. Most frequencies were the same old same old (though some workers at Oscorp were trying a new Thai place…and Peter had to admit they did make it sound very good), but when he switched to the police station it was immediately clear that there was some sort of hubbub going on. There were sirens, and the sound of a lot of movement, and, when Peter put the radio to his ear, he could hear them shouting addresses. Addresses in the neighborhood he was currently in.

 

“He had to have a truck! He couldn’t haul all that stuff without it!”

 

“The perp?” Peter whispered.

 

“How long ago?”

 

“The victims don’t know. They were zapped. Maybe ten minutes, maybe thirty, maybe longer. It’s definitely him.” They were eager. After all, they did have a betting pool going on who could bring him in, and everyone wanted to win it.

 

Peter’s eyes turned back in the direction the truck had disappeared in. It had bumped a few more cars on the way. “What if...”

 

Even if it wasn’t, he could still slow the truck down and give them a warning. And if it was, he had a chance to redeem himself from his previous failure. Second chances didn’t come along very often.

 

Plus, it was barely 7:30. He had plenty of time.

 

So he tucked his radio deep under some old something or other that had been left on the roof years ago and took off swinging. The new tap once for web tap twice to cut system was working fantastically, and he’d found that he could get a mile’s worth of webbing from each vial. He suspected he might get even more with further refinement. For the moment, though, his next goal was crafting the perfect belt, padded just so to protect his tiny replacement bottles.

 

He was also learning how to use his whole body to get the best distance from each swing, though he was finding that his greatest detriment was his own fear. It was hard to let go when he was supposed to, even though he knew he’d be ok. He only missed buildings a couple of times each day, usually because he let his mind start wandering, and each time he’d fallen he’d landed at least somewhat gracefully. He had also noticed that if he let his mind fully wander off his spider-instincts would kick in and guide him, but there was still that lingering fear that didn’t want to fully let go of control

 

He was also getting much better at landing, thanks to all the falling. That seemed like a very useful skill to have.

 

Tonight, though, he focused. “That one,” he mumbled to himself as he picked each building in turn to sling his next web to glide his body along the streets. “And that one…and…there you are.” The truck was aiming for a highway at speeds that were definitely inappropriate for small neighborhood streets. That was the perfect place to get away and get out of the neighborhood quickly. “WOAH THERE!” Peter yelled out as he easily glided over the truck, sticking a web to its top and connecting that web to a nearby building before dropping down in front and putting both hands out, just as he had done for dozens of taxes and other vehicles before.

 

The problem with that was that this definitely wasn't a taxi. The driver, thankfully, slammed down on the breaks. And the web attached to its tail was also adding drag. So when it hit his hands it only hurt a lot, instead of a super lot.

 

“AAGGHHH!” the teen screamed as pain shot through his left hand and up his arm and the truck's hood crumpled up. “Ow ow ow ow-”

 

“WHAT THE HELL, SPIDER-KID?!” the driver screamed, jumping out of the cab. He had on the same outfit from the last time they ran into each other. It took Peter a moment to realize that it wasn't because the guy was worried about him. The truck was tipping over.

 

“Uh-oh.” His web wasn't pulling the truck back. He'd attached it to a building, since there wasn't anything stronger directly behind the truck, and so the web pulled it towards that building. Onto its side. Onto the car that was parked on the street there. Which, really, made complete sense, but Peter hadn't been thinking about the possible consequences when he'd done it. He had just been thinking about stopping the speeding vehicle.

 

He cradled his throbbing hand against his chest as he put himself between the perp and the toppling truck. He tried to use his good arm to web the other side of the truck to a building, but he wasn’t fast enough to save the parked car from being heavily dented (and losing a mirror of its own).

 

There was a muffled sound of things shattering and scraping and snapping inside as the stolen goods toppled over, too. “What. The  _Hell_. Were you thinking!?”

 

“I was thinking you were speeding in a quiet neighborhood and could've hit a kid. And you were stealing. And-”

 

The Perp wasn't as bothered by his chatter this time, running back for the cab of the truck, shouting “Joe, JOE!” as he went.

 

“You're hiring people to help you now?”

 

“My cousin! JOE are you ok-Joe!”

 

Peter immediately felt guilty for chastising him. Someone was hurting and stuck inside that cab and here he was mouthing off because he was frustrated and annoyed and hurting and he'd just dropped a moving truck full of someone else's property on another someone else's car. This was all around a bad idea...and it was all his fault.

 

“Move, move, I'll get him,” Peter declared, jumping up onto the side of the truck and peering down inside. There was another guy in there, also wearing a full ski mask, moving around and groaning and very much definitely alive. “Hey, uh, Joe? Sorry about dropping a truck on you. Can you move?”

 

Joe replied by groaning again.

 

“What is your problem?” the Perp complained from the ground.

 

“Well, you're robbing people, and...that's bad.”

 

The Perp scoffed at him. “I’m not the one who did  _this_.”

 

“I was just trying to stop you. You almost ran over a little kid!”

 

For a hardcore burglar who had a super-taser that could also start fires on its own, the Perp wasn't really that scary of a guy. Peter's senses weren't yelling at him, so at least for now the Perp probably wasn't a threat. And Joe definitely wasn't.

 

The perp didn’t yell back at him at least. So Peter turned his attention to getting Joe out. After making sure Joe had his seatbelt on, he used another web to pull the truck back onto its wheels. The Perp immediately bolted over to the other side to pull Joe out. “Wait!” Peter called out. “I heard you’re not supposed to move unconscious people more than you have to. Uh, hey, Joe? Can you hear me?”

 

“Urmf,” the man replied.

 

“Are you in pain?”

 

“Urrmmf.”

 

Peter wasn’t entirely sure what else he was supposed to do at that point. His ‘first aid training’ had been an assembly in 3rd grade, and it had been made with 3rd grader capabilities in mind. So he carefully crawled into the cab, trying to assess if the man was bleeding or if anything looked broken. “Joe,” he said firmly.

 

“Wut,” the man mumbled.

 

“Can you hear me?”

 

“YES.”

 

“Are you hurt.”

 

“No.”

 

Peter let out a sigh. At least Joe was becoming more coherent. That was probably a good sign. So he crawled back out of the truck and let the guy hang out there for a minute. He had to make a decision now. Obviously he couldn’t let these guys go, but he wasn’t entirely sure just how to catch a bad guy. Of all the things he’d been doing, that was something he’d never actually done before.

 

“Well?” the Perp asked as he rounded the front of the truck. Peter kept himself between the man and the driver’s side door.

 

“He, uh, said he wasn’t hurt. But he probably is. But he was answering my questions, so that’s good. I think. I mean, it’s better than him not answering my questions.” Maybe he could just stall until the cops showed up. They couldn’t be too far out. Ten or twenty blocks away, at best. They’d make their way this way eventually.

 

Plus, he was pretty sure he saw some faces peeking out of windows. Those people would call the cops over here. That would speed things up.

 

“Outta the way,” the Perp demanded, trying to give him a push. Peter stood firm for a moment, but that only lasted a moment before the Perp seemed to remember that he was, in fact, quite a small person. Peter grabbed onto the door itself when the guy tried to pick him up.

 

“What the-“

 

“I stick to things,” Peter explained as he planted his feet on the cab’s step and let himself stick to it. “It’s the whole spider-DNA thing. I’m also freaky strong.”

 

“What kind of freaky alien-experiment are you?” the guy yelled as he stepped back.

 

“It was an accident.”

 

“Oh, that makes it  _all better_.”

 

Peter felt a tingling in his spine, and his eyes immediately darted to check the Perp’s hands. They were well away from his pockets, though.

 

A moment later, an all-too-familiar pain zipped through his entire body. He lost control of all motion, and he lost control of his sticking abilities.

 

“SHIT! What did you do that for!” Peter heard the Perp shouting as he collapsed face-first on the ground. That hurt, too, but overall it wasn’t as bad as the last time he’d been zapped. He couldn’t move this time, either, but he could hear, and see…somewhat. In his fog he realized he hadn’t stopped to figure out to where the zapper-gun was at. As it turned out, the answer to that question was ‘ _in the cab, with Joe, who I wasn’t watching because he was hurt_.’ Some future-Avenger he was turning out to be.

 

“What did I-what the fuck is he?!” Apparently, Joe was feeling better now.

 

“He’s just a stupid kid!”

 

“That we just ran into with a  _truck_  and I’m pretty sure he can fly. That’s  _not_  normal. Kids don’t fly.”

 

“I think he’s Thor’s banished love child or something. Who cares?” The Perp hooked his arms under and around Peter, shoving him up into the cab of the truck. Maybe it was the zaps, but the teen didn’t feel like he was in any danger. “Look, Spider-Kid, I don’t know if you can understand me right now, but…we’re just trying to make a living, ok? Some people have a lot, and other people have nothing, usually because the people who have a lot made sure we’d have nothing. But we’ve got families to think about, too. So can you just, I dunno, stay out of it? Or like, just maybe  _don’t_ crash our truck. If you keep this up, we’ll have to do something about it. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Peter was able to curl his fingers and toes by the time he finished speaking. But now a loud ringing had started up, and that wasn’t getting any better. “Mmff bad.”

 

“Yeah, you’re bad. You got in my way, so a fire got started and someone was almost hurt. And then you tipped my truck over and now someone is out a car.  _And_  you keep costing us loot.”

 

“No. St-EEEeeling. Bad.”

 

“They’ll just call their insurance and get it all replaced. They’ve got money. They’ll be fine.”

 

“Dude, we need to go,” his partner was pressing. “The cops are on their way.”

 

“Oh,” Peter whispered. The ringing wasn’t in his head. It was the cops.

 

“Then help me out here.”

 

Joe let out an annoyed growl as he reached over and pulled Peter into the cab. “You’re soft.” Moments later, they were driving off down the road again. “What, are we just taking him with us?”

 

“No. We’re going to leave him at the park. All the kids should be gone by now, so he should be fine there until he-”

 

“Woah there!” Joe yelled, grabbing Peter’s right wrist as he tried to lift it. “No moving! Don’t make me zap you again!” He held the gun to Peter’s temple to prove he’d make good on his threat. Peter didn’t want to find out how much scrambling his brain could handle, so he did as he was told.

 

“Wow, he’s recovering fast. I mean, I guess that makes sense, if he’s an alien.”

 

“How many aliens do you know that wear sweatpants?”

 

“Why can’t aliens wear sweatpants? They’re comfy.”

 

Peter wondered for a moment if this was how Hulk must feel. Assuming Hulk was aware that people thought he was an alien. He wasn’t going to correct them, though. It was an easy guess.

 

They drove out to a park that Peter had never been to, out in a fancy neighborhood. Well, he supposed that it might not be far from the penthouse, which was itself in a fancy neighborhood.

 

They turned the headlights off before dragging Peter out. He had decent control of his ability to stand, though his coordination was still completely fried. “Yeah, you’ll be fine,” the Perp said as he guided Peter along. “Just don’t follow us this time.”

 

“Why…why do you steal?” Peter mumbled back as he was deposited in the shadows underneath the jungle gym.  “Why don’t you-“

 

“Don’t you dare say ‘get a job.’ Don’t you think we’ve tried that? ‘Once a criminal, always a criminal.’ Don’t matter what you did, why you did it, when you did it, or who you are now. Once you’re a ‘criminal,’ your only job options are Hobo or Drug Lord. I don’t want to be a hobo, and drugs killed my little sis. So I got creative.” He reached over and patted Peter on the head. “You should be fine in a few minutes. Go home, stop worrying your mom.”

 

“She’s dead.”

 

“…oh. Your dad?”

 

“Never met him.”

 

“So…what, are you Hobo-Spider-Kid then?”

 

“I live with my cousin.”

 

“Hah, yeah, me too.”

 

“Seriously?” Joe groaned. “He’ll turn us into the cops first chance he gets!”

 

“He’s a good kid.”

 

Peter tried to stumble to his feet as they got in their truck. He tried to aim his web-shooter as they drove off. There seemed to be three of everything, and, no matter how hard he tried, he could not hold his limbs steady. So, he let himself fall over into a pile of snow as they disappeared around the corner.

 

It wasn’t like they had any intentions of stopping their crime-spree anyway. He’d see them again.

 

The sound of sirens was so distant from here. The fence around the park was really something fancy, and Peter noticed that they had a taller slide than he’d ever seen on a playground before. Their swings weren’t rusty, either. The snow was pretty clean, aside from some mud from the kids’ shoes as they ran around and played. There was even a snowman that hadn’t been knocked over. It was nice.

 

A lot of things were nice around here. Not that his old neighborhood had been not-nice. It wasn’t  _this_  nice, though.

 

The teen waited there in the snow until his senses started to clear up. He knew he was getting better when he started to feel the city buzzing again, deep in his bones.

 

Maybe it would be better if he let the cops handle the perp on their own. They did seem to be aware of what kind of weapons the guys had. But, now that he knew more about the perp, that actually worried him even more, since someone that dangerous would definitely get the 'shoot first' treatment. But did superheroes defend criminals?

 

Death did seem like an excessive punishment for theft. Well, in this case. Or, really, in most cases.

 

Peter realized he'd never given a whole lot of thought to the 'punishment' part of stopping bad guys.

 

A clock tower in the distance rang out the time. “7...8...9,” he counted the chimes. “Oh no.” How had so much time passed already? “I need to get home, now.” When he raised his left hand to pull himself up onto a building, the reminder of why catching trucks like they were baseballs shot through his nerves. “AGH. Ow. Great. Please don't be broken.” He also realized there was a stinging on his chin. That made sense. He had fallen face first into the pavement. At least his nose wasn't broken. Again.

 

 “Ok, I'll just tell him I slipped on some ice. And, uh, that's why I didn't check in. Because I dropped my phone and had to find it.” His phone _was_ at the library, and the library _did_ close at nine tonight.

 

Once he remember to account for his throbbing hand, it was significantly easier to quickly close the distance between the park and the library. Though he did need to first get his bearings and find a place he recognized, at least that wasn't so hard. There were plenty of taller buildings he could pick out even at a distance, once he was up on the rooftops.

 

He quickly texted a 'on my way home now' as soon as he grabbed his bag from the library's roof. Despite his pain, it took him only moments to change from his hoodie and stuff away his mask and gloves. So, he made an executive decision and pulled his jeans over his sweatpants before switching from his sneakers to his boots. At least his legs wouldn’t have to be colder than they already were.

 

The mom from earlier had been right. The temperatures were dropping fast. Luckily, Peter was also fast. The entire way home, he considered ways to better insulate himself. It was all his mind could focus on until the warmth of the tower's elevator enveloped him.

 

Jarvis's greeting was more reserved than it had been in the past. If Peter didn't know better, he'd think he'd accidentally hurt Jarvis's feelings with how little he'd been talking to the AI lately and how much time he'd been spending in his bathtub, hiding from the surveillance.

 

“Pete?” Steve called. “We've got dinner ready-”

 

“I'll be down in a minute,” Peter called back, trying to duck his face and bolt up the stairs. It didn't do any good. He hadn't actually seen his face yet, so he didn't know how extensive the damage was.

 

“Woah, come back here, are you ok? What happened?”

 

The gentle worried kindness in his voice sounded just like Ben's. It brought Peter's feet to a standstill. “I uh, just slipped, on some ice. I'm fine.”

 

“That doesn't look fine,” Mr. Stark chided before vanishing to the kitchen.

 

“Do we have peroxide?” Steve asked.

 

“We have soap and water,” Mr. Stark replied from the kitchen. Peter's heart sunk as he realized they were actually going to fuss over this.

 

“I really am...fine.” He caught a glimpse of his face in the reflective glass of one of their pictures. The scrapes were more extensive than just his chin, and he could see very clear bruises blooming underneath them. “Really. It looks bad but it really really isn't.”

 

“Come here,” Steve sighed. “Sit down.” As Steve took his coat from him, he let his backpack fall by the stairs. “Where did you go tonight?”

 

“And don't tell us you were at the library,” Mr. Stark said as he re-appeared, passing a clean kitchen towel to Steve. “We know better.” Peter's eyes darted to the television as he let his cousin's firm hand push him to the couch. There was new news on the Perp. The clips were showing the neighborhoods where the Perp was striking. All wealthy places.

  
“But th-that's where I-I slipped on the stairs and-”

 

“I didn't say you didn't, though I doubt that.”

 

“Tony,” Steve whispered as he washed off Peter's cheek with a practiced and steady hand. “Pete, I don't care if you're out there stopping kids from stealing bikes, helping old ladies carry their groceries –“ Peter could hear his heart in his ears. Did they know? Really really know? “But...” Steve paused again, searching for words. “I want you to stay safe, too. There are...a lot of dangerous weapons out there on the streets these days.” He, too, looked to the news, which was discussing what to do when zapped into unconsciousness. For most people, they seemed to be alright, overall, but it wasn't good for things such as, say, heart conditions. Which was something Peter was supposed to have. “Please, stay away from those sorts of things. Call the police, call the fire department...9-1-1. That is a very good and useful tool available to people these days, so please remember to use it.”

 

“Is that what you would have done?”

 

Steve lapsed into silence again. Peter was right. After all, how many shiners had Bucky tsk tsked over? But then, the world had been completely different then. “Pete, you're thirteen.” Yes, when he was thirteen he was tussling with bullies, but they almost never had weapons in hand that could kill him in an instant.

 

“So?”

 

“So – there are people that can take care of these sorts of things, and unlike when I was a kid you have a way to reach them no matter where you are. You don't have to do things the way I did. You can be smarter about it.”

 

The teen yanked himself away, reaching up and slapping Steve's hand away. “That's really helped May, hasn't it?”

 

“What-”

 

“It's been months. Why isn't she home yet?”

 

Of all the things Steve was prepared to handle tonight, this had not been anywhere on that list. He supposed he should have expected it to come up eventually, given how Peter had been talking to Clint and Nat. “We...Peter, we haven't found any leads, or...or even any evidence that she did survive. I've been looking, but-”

 

“Don’t lie to me!”

 

“I’m not!” Steve didn’t mean to let his voice raise. He took in a sharp breath to stop that from happening again. “I've been looking – _we've_ been looking. Just last week we had a meeting with one of the highest ranking SHIELD agents to see if we can find new information. But we haven't found anything yet.”

 

“That's. Not. True. I _know_ SHIELD is working with Oscorp! I-I-I know that they were just there a few weeks ago, th-that Dr. Amadei was...working with someone. At SHIELD. I _know_ there's more going on! Why won't you tell me what's happening?”

 

“Now, how do you know all that?” Tony's voice responded. Steve knew that finding out Peter knew more about SHIELD's involvement with Oscorp than they did had to burn, but that was something they could address later. They could always find out new information. But they couldn't replace Peter if something happened to him.

 

“Did you go back to Oscorp again?” He realized that he had been extra foolish to not account for the possibility of Peter being too fixated on Oscorp. He had just taken for granted that people trusted him, and he'd assumed Peter trusted him the same.

 

“What is SHIELD doing working with Oscorp? Is Amadei an agent? What does 'permanently retired' mean to SHIELD?” he found himself saying. He couldn't hide it. He was angry. He wanted answers.

 

“...Did you go back to Oscorp again?”

 

“SHIELD was at Oscorp.”

 

“Did you go back to Oscorp.”

 

“What are you hiding!”

 

They were getting no where, and Steve realized they weren't going to, either. Peter wasn't in a rational state of mind.

 

“We're going to put a pin in this," Steve finally said. "And we will talk when you've had a chance to calm down. But in the meantime, you are going to have a 7:30 curfew, and you are not to go near Oscorp under any circumstances. Understood?" He waited a moment to give the teen a chance, but it quickly became clear that Peter wasn't going to respond. "You will not go near Oscorp under any circumstances, or there will be consequences. Are. We. Clear."

 

"...yes. Sir."

 

The word was a knife, but Steve reminded himself that it wasn't malicious. Peter was just a boy, traumatized and hurting and often putting on a very good show of being fine even though he most certainly wasn't anywhere close to fine.

 

Steve knew all too well that song and dance. He didn't want to push the kid too hard, but there was also a point where boundaries needed to be established before he went and hurt himself even worse.

 

"Ok. So...your dinner is ready, you might need to re-heat it-” Peter didn't even let him finish before bolting for the kitchen. Moments later, they could hear the microwave whirring away.

 

The two waited in silence until Peter scrambled up the stairs, taking his backpack with him as he went. “You still sure you don't want more cameras?” Tony suggested.

 

“I'm sure.”

 

Steve realized his hands were shaking, just a little bit. He was frustrated, and scared in a way he'd never felt before. He'd feared for his own life, he'd feared for the lives of others, but he'd never been afraid for the life of his own child. For the first time, he truly understood his mother's worries.

 

He slipped off to the kitchen to wash the dishes. When Tony followed him, he wasn't sure whether he felt relief or frustration. He wanted a moment alone, but he also wanted help. He didn't know what he was doing.

 

Tony wouldn't know any better than he did, but he was someone to talk to.

 

“Was it a bad idea to have Clint train him?” he asked quietly. They could hear the water running upstairs, but Steve had learned that Peter could be shockingly sneaky, when he wanted to be.

  
  


“No, that was probably the best idea you’ve had. He’s proven that he’s going to do this with or without you, the least you could do for him is make sure he knows how to keep his brains inside his skull while he’s at it.”

  
  


“I didn’t need to hear that.”

  
  


“Yes you did.”

  
  


“I’m not going to get any sleep tonight.” He watched as Tony picked up another dish towel, readily taking each dish from him in turn as he washed.

  
  


“Why aren’t you using your dishwasher? Is it broken?”

  
  


“I prefer doing things by hand.”

  
  


“Yeah yeah, Gramps, but seriously, you should give it a try.”

  
  


“You don't have to help me, you know.”

  
  


“Whatever.” He paused, drying off the glasses with a surprising level of skill that Steve wouldn't have thought he was capable of. He certainly doubted that the man had ever been required to clean anything in his entire life. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  
  


“Hm?”

  
  


“About the kid. His breaking and entering, his…everything. All those issues.”

  
  


“Well, you tell me almost every day how much you hate kids-“

  
  


“That doesn't sound like me at all.”

  
  


“-And Bruce is…well, I didn’t think that information would upset him but I don’t want to add more stress to his life when he’s already so nervous about being in the city. And…I…still don’t know how I feel about SHIELD. I know Howard and Peggy started it with the best intentions, and I have no doubts that they ran it very well, in their day. But they aren’t in charge of it anymore. Not that Fury is a bad person, he’s just so…”

  
  


“Secretive. It’s pretty obvious why no one trusts me with secrets, but if someone doesn’t trust Captain America, there’s probably a problem, right?”

  
  


“No, I’m just a person, just like everyone else.”

  
  


“Uh-huh. A person that absolutely everyone for decades has been raised to worship like a modern god-“

  
  


“I’m not-“

  
  


“You’re a modern Greek myth whether you like it or not. And don’t pretend you don’t know that.” Steve _was_ well aware how kids were raised to view him and his legacy – he’d seen it all over the internet. He just hadn’t realized he had started to buy into it himself. And Tony was, as usual, all too pleased to have been the one to point that out. But even Tony knew there was at least a kernel of validity to his concerns, even if the concerns weren’t all coming from the wholesome place that everyone expected them to come from. “Do you think SHIELD could have been involved in the attack?”

  
  


“I don’t know. There’s dozens of organizations that would definitely kill for a...the serum. Or anything that could approximate even part of what it did to me. I don’t think Fury would approve of murdering unarmed civilians, though. Or putting children in harm’s way.” Even if those children were potentially super soldier experiments.

  
  


Steve took in a deep breath to focus himself again. He didn't want to let himself consider that avenue. Besides, if someone had experimented on Peter, they were long gone now. And Peter was with him. It was the safest place a kid like him could be in.

  
  


Tony yanked out his phone, showing Steve a page full of coding that he could only assume was something Tony didn’t have permission to play with. “But Fury isn’t SHIELD…Just say the word, I can hack it. We can find out everything they know.”

  
  


“And they’ll find out you hacked them again a minute later. You’re not the only smart person on the planet. I don’t want to waste our Ace too soon. And…” He stopped, because he didn’t want to speak his doubt out loud. He knew grief, and he knew trauma. He saw every day what it did to the soldiers at his side. He watched every day as his new teammates pushed through theirs. He fought his own nightmares each night. He knew so very well that even the strongest people could break and see what they wanted to see, interpret things how they wanted to interpret them. And he wasn’t finding anything. Not a trace, not a hint.

  
  


If they alerted SHIELD to just how far they were willing to go, they could lose any trust they had, which would in its own turn make everything harder for them in the future.

  
  


But he had been doubted, too. And then he’d marched solo into enemy territory and proved everyone wrong.

  
  


As good as the outcome had been, Peter was just a child. He didn’t want to leave the child in a situation where he felt he needed to march himself into the most dangerous possible place on his own, without even alerting anyone as to where he’d gotten off to. So he refused to listen to that doubt. He couldn’t banish it because he knew not to get his hopes up, but, for Peter's sake, he chose to believe the kid until there was indisputable evidence otherwise.

  
  


“And what?” Tony pushed.

  
  


Steve snatched Tony’s phone from his hands before he could move his fingers. “Not yet.”

  
  


“I wasn’t going to.”

  
  


“Yes you were.”

  
  


“…Ok, I was. But what do you suggest we do, hack Os…corp.” Tony’s head tilted almost involuntarily. He hadn’t given them much thought in the past, so it hadn’t immediately occurred to him to look into their servers. But he could. Easily.

  
  


“That’s a crime.”

  
  


“So is hacking SHIELD, and the US government, but I’ve done both-“

  
  


“And you got away with it because you’re you. You won’t get away with hacking into your competition.”

  
  


“Can we really call them competition?”

  
  


“They see themselves as such.”

  
  


“So did Hammer.”

  
  


“Tony, no hacking. No more crimes. We need to set a good example, for everyone…and for Peter. We can’t call ourselves heroes and then go out acting like we’re above the law ourselves.”

  
  


“Fine, fine. Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: 9-1-1 wasn't developed until the 50s/60s. 9-1-1 is a technological innovation to Steve.
> 
> Also, for those who read these notes, you'll remember last month when I asked if you would prefer I take a hiatus in December or in January (since I will not have time to write in January at all), and everyone chose December, so this will be the last chapter of 2019. I'll be spending the next month writing up several chapters so that I'll be ok through January (and, hopefully, into February just in case). 
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for all your support so far. I really did think this would just be some super small niche thing for people who desperately needed some more dad-Steve in their lives. I suppose it still is quite small in comparison to super successful fics, but I'm not out here to rise up the ranks. I just want to bring joy and entertainment. I'll see you in the New Year! Happy holidays!


	23. Chapter 22

“It'll pass,” Tony said as the apparition formerly known as Peter Parker slipped through Bruce’s lab, untrusting eyes dancing over Steve before he dragged Ned away. According to Jarvis they were on their way to the other lab, where the only person who might wander up to bother them distrusted SHIELD as much as Peter did. “He’s a teenager. Angst is what they’re best at.”

 

“And the world has also piled a lot of trauma on top of all those hormones,” Bruce added, only pausing for a moment to glance after Peter. “Among other things.”

 

The reassurances couldn’t quell the ache in Steve's stomach. Apparently, putting a pin in Peter's explosion over SHIELD and Oscorp had only made the topic even more volatile. He hated knowing that Peter didn’t trust him at the moment. It didn't matter that he knew Peter would get over it, in time, it hurt worse than any physical injury he'd ever had. They were a family. 

 

“Mmhm,” Steve rumbled as he sank down into a spare desk chair. He knew that punishment wasn’t always a bad thing. Boundaries were necessary, and rules had a very important place most of the time, and they were certainly important in this case. Peter was putting himself in danger, and Steve couldn't just lock him up 24/7 to keep him out of it. But he could set a reasonable curfew. Plus, this curfew gave the kid more time to hang out with Avengers. Who could be mad about hanging out with _Avengers_  after school?

 

Peter Parker, that was who.

 

The teen had started bypassing talking to any of them entirely and sequestered himself in whichever lab was farthest from Steve on any given day. He brought Ned along most days - with Steve’s permission, of course. He was not about to isolate the teen, especially when he believed that Peter needed companionship now more than ever. That had been only conversation the two of them had had in over a week. Peter talked more to _Tony_ than Steve. It wasn't willing, but Tony definitely got more words per interaction than anyone else.

 

The only person Peter was willingly initiating conversations with was Pepper. Apparently, he had provided her with a very interesting suggestion for Stark Enterprises’ next charity project: Helping former inmates lead better lives through job opportunities. She liked the idea, and was doing a great job of keeping him engaged in the process of preparing the presentation for the board. 

 

At least the teen still had two people he liked.

 

Steve knew that the distrust was primarily due to SHIELD, and he didn’t blame Peter for that one bit. SHIELD made him uncomfortable, too. He also knew he wasn’t one to judge, having himself been someone who willingly joined a subdivision of the army as a human experiment. When taking out the broader contexts of what was happening, what had been done to him sounded like something Hydra would do. Because it was something that Hydra did do, before their super soldier scientist defected. And SHIELD was what had grown from those strange, shady origins.

 

But Peggy and Howard had been the founders, so Steve knew there was definitely a lot of good within SHIELD. Even when Fury rubbed him the wrong way...Or when they hid documents so deep that even Nat and Clint couldn’t find them.

 

There was certainly a reason for it, and, for now, Steve chose to believe it was a good reason. After all, SHIELD was tasked with defending the planet and humanity on a whole. Fury had to keep thousands of agents across the globe on task and weigh the pros and the cons of allowing agents to know certain information. Steve was sure of his own abilities to withstand theoretical torture, but he was also very well aware that Fury, like a lot of people, didn’t seem to be sure he was ‘ready’ for the full force of the modern world. He _was_ still adapting to all the changes, from technology to pop culture. It was frustrating, but he tried to be patient. After all, he had a kid who was counting on him staying alive, and he was very acutely aware of how little he knew and how dangerous missed details could become.

 

So they’d decided to give Maria some time to do exactly what she’d said she was going to do. And, in the meantime, Bruce and Tony had focused their energies on Peter himself.

 

Steve directly forbade any sorts of tests without Peter’s consent, regardless of how much they could learn from them. He didn’t want to scare Peter off even further. It was clear the teen didn’t want to discuss what was happening, but Steve hadn't yet decided how to best approach the subject. Should he wait, or take the chance of upsetting Peter even more? Could Peter forgive him for knowing? Did Peter even know that he was different? Steve did suspect that whatever had happened hadn't been something Peter had chosen, not that someone Peter's age could even begin to consent to something so drastically life-altering in the first place. If he did know, he was keeping it secret for some reason, possibly because of all the trauma. If he didn't know, then Steve was about to change his entire world. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as though ‘how to help your teenager cope with the aftermath of being a human experiment’ was a topic that was covered in any of the parenting guidebooks. So he tried to lean back on what he knew…which also wasn’t much.

 

The soldiers he’d rescued from Hydra had never spoken about what had happened. They hadn’t needed to, because everyone knew, without needing to speak. Just being together, side-by-side with others who had been through the same horrors, was all they’d needed then. And he hadn’t been there after the war to see what had become of them once their groups were disbanded.

 

Steve also knew his own experiences. Even though what he had done had always been done willingly, he still wouldn’t talk about it. Not because he didn’t trust people but because he just didn’t want to. One day, he was fighting in the most horrific war mankind had ever seen and the next day he was waking up in a new century. And Peter’s world had shifted just as dramatically in just as short a time-span. Well, relatively speaking. 

 

If Peter was like him - and Peter definitely was  _just_ like him - then he might never talk without a push. But if he was pushed, he might shut down. So Steve decided they would deal with this SHIELD-Oscorp thing first and put Peter's mind back at ease.  

 

Though if they wanted to figure out what had happened to Peter, not talking to him about it left them only with the tools they had available to try to parse out what had happened. It had long been suspected that Oscorp may have also been trying to re-create the super soldier serum. Illegally, but when had that ever stopped anyone? Everyone with a power complex (and half of the rest of the population, too) dreamt of being as strong and durable as Captain America.

 

“Have you considered genetics?” Bruce asked. “I mean, as far as the –.” He paused a moment to gather his thoughts, turning away from the screens that he had been deeply engrossed in as he’d researched all of Oscorp’s known projects, completed or otherwise. “When we tried to recreate it, well, you know what happened to me. And when Hydra tried it, they more or less melted a man’s face off. But not you.”

 

“What, do you think whoever did this knew about his lineage?” Tony batted back.

 

“It’s not like it’s difficult information to find. Just look at all known relatives and follow their lives. Rosewasn’t someone who was just lost to history. She was a nurse in both wars, and continued working in hospitals after. She won't be found in a history book, but there are easily traceable records of her. Then you would have marriage certificates, birth certificates, and death certificates, and you’d find the last two surviving relatives. And we, ah, we don’t know what could have happened to Ben.”

 

“You think they knew he was related to me and may have used him because of that,” Steve summarized.

 

“Possibly. It’s one option. You’re the only known real success, so if someone were to try to re-create that success, they would probably have the best luck starting with your family.”

 

“I thought we were supposed to be cheering him up,” Tony tried to jump in, but Steve cut him off.

 

“I’d rather know the truth than have people sugar-coat things just to spare my feelings. That way I can be prepared for…whatever comes of this.”

 

“You do realize we’re talking about possible human experimentation…on a child. And the only way that could happen would be if adults-”

 

“Yes, Tony. I do realize that. But if May did do something, then she would need to be as well-trained as…well, as a Black Widow, to be undercover for decades, just on the off chance she would get the opportunity to experiment on Ben’s sister’s son.”

 

“And maybe Ben,” Bruce offered. “…Sorry.”

 

“No, no. That would be a concern, too. At least we can rule out his mom, since he definitely had medical issues after he went to live with Ben and May.”

 

“So! We need to find out if May has a sketchy history,” Tony said. Steve held in a groan at what sounded almost like joy at the edges of his friend’s voice. He was right, of course. If they could prove beyond a doubt that May was definitely just May and not secretly-a-super-trained-agent-May, then that would…well, it would prove May was every bit the loving aunt Peter seemed to believe her to be. It wouldn’t solve anything else, but it would put his mind at ease. No, the problem was that Tony wasn’t thinking about Peter.

 

“I’ll call Nat,” he said. “If anyone knows how to find out that sort of information-“

 

“What, you don’t think I can handle it?”

 

“I know you can handle it, but she’s an expert on the subject.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them. The last thing he wanted to do was give Tony a challenge to overcome. That would only result in the exact opposite action. If there was one thing Steve was learning about computers, and those who created and mastered them, it was that you had to provide very specific input to get the desired output. “What I mean is – don’t you have something else you need to be focusing on?”

 

“No – oh, the surgery? I rescheduled.”

 

“ _Tony_ -“

 

“I have some work to finish – and I actually  _want_ to finish it-“ Steve bit his tongue to keep from saying ‘because you’re procrastinating.’ He knew Tony was scared, but he also knew that Tony really did want to do this. “-And besides, it’s really cold outside. Did you see the forecast? I think I’ll wait until it warms up a little so I don’t have to deal with that.”

 

“What does the weather have to do with anything?”

 

“What if it snows again? I hate snow.”

 

“That didn’t answer my question.”

 

“ _So_ ,” Bruce interjected, always in tune with the tension of any room, even if he wasn’t at its epicenter. “Peter.”

 

“Yes, Peter,” Tony encouraged, sitting down and pulling out his phone to fiddle with it. “We know he was going out playing vigilante. And according to Jarvis and the homemade remote on your coffee table back home, he's at least strong enough to crush a TV remote in his hand. And we know that he can heal honestly horrific road-burns in 24 hours.”

 

“It wasn’t very deep,” Steve said, allowing Tony to change the subject. After all, it was, ultimately, Tony’s choice to go through with it, or not to. He was technically fine without it, as long as no one stole or damaged his arc reactor. “We also know he’s healed up from burns pretty quickly, and he’s also healed from actual health conditions, but we don’t know how long that took.”

 

“We also don’t know that for sure without a medical examination,” Bruce said. “It’s likely. But if we’re being truly scientific, we can’t prove that.”

 

“Right. And he hates doctors.”

 

“Can you blame him?” Tony mumbled. “They’re the worst. And they always smell bad.  _Always_ …there. Got it.”

 

“Got what?”

 

“I set up a search program across all known databases to pull all face matches and all information it finds about a May Parker or May Reilly, which is apparently her maiden name. Got that from her marriage announcement in the papers. It’d be better if I could link into private and government satellite systems for facial recognition the world over, but I promised I wouldn’t commit crimes and I’m pretty sure that would definitely be a crime. So, in a few minutes we should have just about everything that can be found on the internet, then someone gets the honor of reading through all of it to find anything relevant.”

 

“Like I said, I’ll ask Nat if she can help. She’ll know what details to look for.”

 

"Well-"

 

"I could use your help," Bruce butted in. "With Oscorp's experiments. They have been working a lot in biochemistry and biology. There's a lot of scrubbed projects, too. And SHIELD has a whole database of never-announced projects dating up to a few years ago when Oscorp got in trouble for stem cell research."

 

Steve backed off, letting the science duo dive in. He was getting hungry, which meant that if Peter was like him then Peter was guarunteed to be hungry, too.

 

“Hey, what can I get you guys for dinner?” Steve called out from Tony's lab's doorway.

 

“Thai,” Peter grumbled.

 

“Uh, we’ve had Thai a lot lately,” Ned replied. “What about chicken wings, or a nice fat burrito?”

 

“…ok.” The teen didn’t look up from his work. They were fixing up a junky, mostly-destroyed hunk of metal parts. It almost looked like Tony was teaching them via having them fix his robots for him. And Tony definitely had a lot of broken metal parts these days. He swore he wasn't building a new Iron Man suit, but he was definitely building  _something_ that was intended to handle a lot of damage.

 

The Captain let out an audible sigh before leaving, and Ned cringed. In turn, Peter slumped down in his chair, letting his head hang. Being mad at Steve was exhausting.

 

“It’s not me, is it?” Ned asked.

 

“No.” The silence hung over them for so long that Peter’s head slipped down into his arms, and he let his face be engulfed in the soft fabric of his hoodie.

 

“So, I know it’s probably not any of my business, but are you, like, fighting with Captain America?”

 

“I don’t know,” Peter groaned. “I…I yelled at him. Because…I mean…It’s…” Ned waited patiently as Peter tried to find words. “I called him a liar,” Peter mumbled into his arms. “I called  _Captain America_ a liar.” He hadn’t meant it. Well, he had meant to be mean. He was angry, and if he didn't get the anger out then he felt he might just explode. He hadn't meant to insult Steve, though. But that's what he had done. And he couldn't take that back. He could apologize and try to make things better, but his lips glued themselves shut every time he tried. Truth be told, he didn't want to apologize. 

 

“Well…uh…was he? You know, lying?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Peter’s eyes poked up to look at Ned. “If he isn’t, then what does  _that_  mean?”

 

“That he was telling the truth?”

 

“No!” Peter's back straightened as he rushed to defend himself from the reality of Ned's words. “I mean…yes, but…If he’s telling the truth, then that means he actually doesn’t know something I know, and I know a lot of people online think he must be as bad as every old person they know when it comes to technology but he really isn’t. He knows how to use computers, and smart phones, and the internet. So I know he knows how to find information so that's not the problem. Which means he either lied to me or isn’t very good at helping or-or…” Or SHIELD was purposefully keeping him in the dark because they were doing things that were too shady to tell Captain America about. Like attacking Oscorp for some reason. “Just, you know. There’s no good answer.”

 

Ned slowly grabbed a chair, pulling it close so he could sit down next to his friend. “Uhm…Pete, dude. You are literally making _no_ sense. Do I need to worry about you?”

 

“No, I’m fine…I’m fine. Really.”

 

“You don’t sound fine. So what if he doesn’t know something? Lots of people don’t know things.”

 

Peter let out a deep sigh. “It’s…about Oscorp. You know how survivors are working together to try to prove the innocence of the scientists that Oscorp blamed…and…I, uh, know some things. I can’t _prove_ it, but I know that they didn’t cause the-the incident. And, I told Steve about it, months ago, and he said he’d look into it, and then a few weeks ago I learned some more stuff, and he _didn’t_ know. Or he lied about not knowing. And I don’t know which one is worse. And...they both...they're both bad options? I think? Because if he does know and lied then he might be a bad person but if he doesn't know then that means...I mean, it's just so bad. It's all bad. It's just all-” Ned's hands clamped down on his shoulders.

 

Peter realized in that brief moment of silence that Jarvis had to be listening. He also realized in the next moment that he didn't really care about that. Well, more accurately, he almost hoped Jarvis would tattle on him this time. That would be so much easier.

 

“Are you _sure_ you're ok? This sounds like a whole lot of not ok.”

 

“I’m sorry-” He stopped himself mid-sentence. There was so much that he was sorry for, but he couldn’t even begin to explain what or why. He couldn’t tell Ned that he’d seen SHIELD at Oscorp. He couldn’t tell that he was pretty sure they’d killed Dr. Amadei. He couldn’t tell Ned why he was so afraid all the time, always looking over his shoulder - that he was always waiting for SHIELD to drop down and take him. Or worse.

 

“For what?” came Ned’s inevitable reply.

 

“I don’t know. I just…I’m so mad about…about everything, I guess.”

 

“Well, yeah. I’m mad, too. It’s so unfair. And…I really don’t know how to help you but, you know…I’m here for you, when you need me, ok? I can’t even imagine going through the stuff you’ve been through. So like, let me know, if you’re feeling upset. We can talk about it. And then maybe you won’t yell at Captain America. You can yell at me instead.”

 

“I’m not going to yell at you, Ned.”

 

“But you can. If you need to...er, well, usually you can. But first, I need to make a quick trip-"

 

"I don't you not to eat the mystery meat tacos."

 

"It said beef!"

 

"Which is code for mystery meat."

 

As Ned hurried off, Peter turned back to their project. He really wasn't in the mood to work on it, but he also wasn't in the mood for what he had started calling 'Doctor Training.' Dr. Banner's lessons had taken a sharp shift towards biology, with a heavy medical slant to them. Peter wasn't struggling with them, but he also wasn't interested. What he wanted was to work on improving his web formula, or find a way to change how his webs came out of his shooters, or test the science of his own wall sticking. 

 

Meanwhile Dr. Banner seemed ready to turn him into the world's next great neurosurgeon. "I don't want to be a doctor," he grumbled as he skimmed through the names of the lessons. "I want to be an Avenger."

 

“Now why would you want to do something like that?” Mr. Stark's voice came through Jarvis's speaker. 

 

"What - are you -" Mr. Stark stepped through the doors a few moments later.

 

"I was just checking your progress, but apparently you aren't even working."

 

"We were! Ned's busy at the moment."

 

"Uh-huh. This is a lot of work that isn't going to get done on its own. Avengers get their work done. Which is a very good reason to not want to be one. So why exactly would you ever want to be one?"

 

“Because…I…uhm…”

 

“If you can’t even answer that question, then you should probably think up different career paths.”

 

“Why do you do it?”

 

“I’m retired.” It didn’t sound like Mr. Stark believed his own words.

 

“Ok, so why  _did_  you do it?”

 

“…Well. At first I was mad, and wanted revenge. Then I found out that it’s actually really nice when people like you because you’re doing good things and not just because you’re hot and rich, and…I guess, I did it because I had the skills and the ability to do it, and the world needed me to, because no one else could have. And, I don’t know about you but I like having a planet that is free of crazy alien overlords. Though, if I could, I’d love to just put a shield around the whole world. Stop that from happening again, then we can manage the big things happening on Earth, maybe finally see actual peace–"

 

“For everyone?”

 

“Of course for everyone, what, you think I’d play favorites about who gets peace and who doesn’t?”

 

“Well, I mean...like, did you know that 97% percent of people facing felony charges just take plea bargains because they can’t afford bail, or sitting in jail for months or years just waiting for trial? Like, they might be guilty, but…we’ll never know, because they were too poor to afford a fair trial. And then when they get out, they’re felons, and most places don’t hire felons.” Peter hadn’t meant to fall down that research rabbit hole, but the Perp had gotten him thinking, and it had been a nice distraction from his constant anxiety of wondering if an when SHIELD was going to grab him from knowing too much. Plus, it gave him something to talk about that wasn't Spider-Man or Oscorp. “I just think stopping wars probably won’t help them much.”

 

“Pepper was telling me about your little charity idea. And now we're setting up a new charity program thing. Hm, funny how that works.”

 

“…yeah, I guess – I mean, thank you.”

 

“You really like helping out the little guys, don’t you?”

 

“I guess…I’m just…really mad about what Oscorp did to May. It’s not fair. It’s not  _right_. And no one cares. And…that happens a lot, to a lot of people, doesn’t it?”

 

“…yeah. It does. But you also have to pick your battles. Do what _you_  can do.”

 

“But what if you could do _more_ and you know it," Peter tried to ask, but Ned bounded back into the room before he could finish.

 

“I think we can finish up the – oh, woah.” Immediately, his friend froze in place, jaw open. “H-h-hi-“

 

“Hey," Mr. Stark greeted, cutting off Ned's nervousness at the pass. "Looks like you two are doing good work here. But you’re missing something.”

 

“What?” Those words got Ned’s feet moving, and both the teens leaned over to poke at their work, trying to figure out what Mr. Stark was referring to. Peter didn’t notice the billionaire wandering over to his own workstation, or as he grabbed a notebook (Peter didn’t even think Mr. Stark kept physical notebooks).

 

Peter did notice when his hand darted up on its own accord to catch the bound stack of papers that was suddenly flying at his head. He turned quickly to try to make it look as natural as possible, but he could see Mr. Stark watching his motions. “Take a look at that. See if it helps you.”

 

“Thank you Sir!” Ned exclaimed as he grabbed the notebook from Peter’s hands.

 

“Don’t call me sir."

 

The man settled back to watch them, and he didn't budge when Steve brought dinner, or when Ned went home. He just stayed there, watching, his eyes boring into Peter, until Steve made them go home. Even then, Peter felt like he was still being watched. Even as he grabbed his laptop and curled up in his bathtub. _He knows he knows he knows_ Peter's mind screamed as he tried to calm himself. _He knows, and nothing bad has happened_ , he reasoned.

 

As the clocks turned past midnight, the penthouse seemed to fall quiet. Tony paced as quietly as he could between the tiny penthouse lab and the kitchen and his room, then back again for another lap. Each time he passed, he noticed the light was still on under Peter's door.

 

Sometimes, Tony wondered if the teen ever slept. Sure, sure, Peter 'went to bed,' but going to bed and sleeping in bed were very different things.

 

Tony was an expert on that subject. How many times had he lost track of the night as he spiraled in his own mind? Sleep and sleepiness didn't even cross his mind until Pepper or Happy or Rhodey came downstairs to remind him that he was, in fact, human, and that humans did require sleep.

 

They weren't here now. Pepper and Happy were in California - Pepper was overseeing another attempt to excavate his house from the ocean and Happy was still recovering - and Rhodey was off doing military things still. And Tony was not about to ask _Steve_ for help getting to sleep. When he thought about bothering his friend – and he was pretty sure they were friends, weird though it was – all he could imagine was his dad answering the door.

 

Steve didn't look as old as he was, but the knowledge that he'd been friends with Howard was never far from Tony's mind. Steve seeped old man from his pores. He was such an old man, and it annoyed Tony to no end. Especially because he was also somehow younger than Tony was, despite being practically a hundred years old.

 

“Jarvis, do I have any wrinkles?” he grumbled in the lab.

 

“No new ones, Sir.”

 

“Lie to me.”

 

“No, Sir, you do not have any wrinkles.”

 

“Thank you-what was that?” His head turned towards what should have been a dark living room, leading around the corner to a dark kitchen. Except, the kitchen wasn't dark.

 

“Mr. Parker is in the kitchen.”

 

“Ahhh, late night munchies.”

 

Tony didn't know what to make of Peter. In some ways, he was exactly the sort of kid Tony expected him to be when he got that phone call. _“Tony – I, uh, I need a favor...I have a teenage cousin, and as of today...I'm his last known relative. I don't think my apartment is going to be big enough.”_ He was polite, and just generally _good_. But he was also sneaky, and clever, and trouble.

 

And scared.

 

Which made sense. Really. But the way the kid just shrank up sometimes crushed Tony. Like when he'd first blurted out 'good to see you again,' he had visibly shrunk from his shame. Or now, whenever Nat or Clint were around. Or, sometimes, when he saw things on the news. If Tony had to guess, his first one would be that the teen felt bad he hadn't been able to help. Just because he was such a gosh darn good kid, and had big boots to fill...and seemed determined to fill them.

 

But Tony didn't want to make guesses, because this kid kept surprising him. There weren't a lot of people who still surprised him.

 

The inventor pulled a stool to the side of the bar so he could sit down in Pete's line of vision. The teen had his soundproof headphones on, but Tony couldn't hear any music playing. He was busying himself dunking Oreos in milk, but his eyes did glance Tony's way without even a hint of surprise.

 

After one more Oreo, he pushed his headphones down around his neck.

 

“How do those headphones work for you?” Tony asked.

 

“They're pretty good.”

 

“Just pretty good?”

 

“Well...you're really loud.”

 

 _Oh_. The teen wasn't using the headphones to listen to music. He was using them to block out Tony's pacing.

 

Tony wasn't really used to sharing such small spaces. If he knew he was going to annoy Pepper, he had several other floors to go and pace around. And a large lab to build in. And fancy sports cars to go for midnight drives in. But he didn't have any of that here. And his new house was still being built, and his new cars didn't have a nearby garage to wait in. And the next best lab was several blocks away, which was father than he wanted to go.

 

But. He also knew that he wasn't so loud that the teen should have heard him through those headphones. He'd designed them himself. He knew how good they were. “You didn't break them, did you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Let me see.” Peter hesitated for a moment, but complied with the request. Tony looked over the set quickly, even popping them over his own ears. The world went silent. “Can you play some music-” Peter's arms flailed up to shush him, and then the teen complied, putting on some truly good classic rock. Tony wouldn't have expected that, either. Though, he wasn't sure what kind of music he would have thought the kid might listen to. He certainly didn't seem to be the Taylor Swift type. “I am not that loud,” he declared, yanking them off again and getting up to get himself some cider.

 

“You're not loud-loud but I, uh, I'm, er, really sensitive?”

 

“Yeah?” _Super-sensitive?_ Tony wondered.

 

“I don't know how to explain it, but my mind...just, it never stops, and that's distracting enough, like, my teachers were really mean when I was little because I couldn't focus but then they found out I was good at school and if they left me alone to do my homework it was fine so then they left me alone so it really is fine, really. But then there's...everything on top of that. And it's fine, most of the time. It's fine. Really, I'm used to it, but...”

 

“It's harder to deal with at night.”

 

“Right.” Tony passed the headphones back to the kid. “Are we the same person?” The teen's eyes darted up from his milk. They seemed to bore right into Tony's soul, and they were definitely wide enough for Tony to see into his. “I mean, no teacher ever had the audacity to tell me no, but...There's so much you want to do, and so much you want to know, and never enough time in a day, but your mind won't settle because it _needs_ that information or the answers or solutions or it needs to get that next idea out, right now. Right?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Mmhm. And when you're stuck not doing the things your brain wants to do, you get bored, do stupid things, and worry the people who care about you. Or you do things that maybe aren't completely stupid but probably shouldn't be done alone...” Tony lifted his glass. “To us.”

 

“Oh-oh, ok uhm-” Some milk spilled over the edge of the teen's glass as he lifted it up. “To us?”

 

“Don't be afraid to be proud of your achievements. They're signs that there's something worthwhile in all that madness.” Cider wasn't nearly as good as a proper scotch, but, well. He had made a promise. “So, how do _you_ cope with it? Because I'm really, really bad at it. Truly.”

 

“Uhm. I read a lot...uh, do a lot of research...Whenever I start thinking about bad things I look at something else and try to think about that instead...” His voice dropped significantly, but Tony was able to make out a very, very quiet 'and sometimes I make things' amidst the mumbling. That was definitely relatable.

 

“What about when you have to do something you don't like? Like...go to the doctor.” Immediately, the teen's shoulders clenched, his head sunk down, his hands balled into fists, and his eyes – well, if Tony thought Peter looked like a deer caught on the road before, this was the look of the deer he was about to hit while driving at 100 miles per hour. “I don't know if you've heard, but I have a doctor's appointment coming up myself. You know. Heart stuff.” He tapped on his reactor. “No one ever tells me what to do, except Pepper, sometimes. She gets mad if I don't listen to her, but that's boring grown-up stuff. No one else gets to tell me what to do, though. No one. So I don't usually have to do things I don't want to do.”

 

“Like go to the doctor.”

 

“Right.”

 

“I don't either. I mean, go to the doctor. After my, uh, my mom...” He chewed over his words, searching for what he wanted to say. What he felt safe saying. “Died. After she died. I was, uhm. I was in the hospital, right there, you know? So Ben and May didn't make me go to hospital like places unless we absolutely had to, and I worked really hard to make sure we didn't have to. All my doctors were small, cozy clinics. But when we did have to go to a hospital, I would, well, read.” He waved his phone in the air. “Or listen to music and imagine – uhm, heroic stuff. Just try to be anywhere else but there. In my head, I mean. And then afterwards they'd let me just play video games for the rest of the day. That was nice.”

 

“Hm. Maybe I'll try that next time. The music, I mean. My life is already all the video game I need.”

 

“I couldn't really do any of that...last time...” That had to have been horrifying, sitting there as people screamed through the night. Alone, wondering if his arms were going to start melting off next. 

 

Tony was rarely lost for words, so, naturally, something tumbled from his mouth immediately. “Well...” He immediately realized that he actually didn't have anything to say. What could he say? “Could have been worse.” _Not that._ This was why Tony was the fun friend, not the support in hard times friend.

 

“Steve helped.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“He's really nice. And he really cares about people, not just because he has to. He's really good at just...being there? And knowing what I need...and I was mean to him-”

 

“Ok, gonna stop you _right_ there. I know you think you're very grown up but you are thirteen and everyone knows that. Teenagers are mean. Its just what people your age _do_. It sucks and you'll regret it for the rest of your life but that's just how it is. And Saint Steve is not holding it against you.”

 

“But-”

 

“No. Now why don't you go to bed, don't you have school tomorrow?” 

 

"Yeah. I...I guess I could try."

 

"...Or, y'know, you could work in my lab. If it'd help. I'm sure I've got a few little things that need fixing."

 

"...I'd like that."

 

Tony took the empty milk glass to rinse out with his own while Peter went on ahead. When he left the kitchen, he glanced up, just for a moment, and caught Steve's eyes peering down at him from the top of the stairs. "Thanks," the man whispered.

 

"No problem," Tony whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Happy new year! And happy new schedule - I'm going to be posting on Fridays or Saturdays (depending on which day I have off) now rather than Mondays due to a schedule change late last month. Thank you everyone for being patient through my hiatus, it was actually really helpful for me to have some time to re-assess my timeline since some things are happening faster than I originally intended. It makes sense that they're happening as they are, but it also messed up most of my original plan. I have a new plan now that I think works better for these characters, though I'm still trying to figure out how to get more Thor into it. He's a toughie, since he spends a lot of time not on Earth, which means I'm gonna need to cram a lot of him in between Civil War and Ultron. 
> 
> Oh, and there's lots more DadSteve dadding all over the place coming up, and all the uncles uncling.


	24. Chapter 23

Having a 7:30 curfew was frustrating, but at least school let out early enough that Peter had a few hours between the end of most days before he had to get home. Every day, except D&D Thursdays and therapy Fridays, he popped out for a few hours to help out his city before regrouping with Ned for evening lessons.  He’d started branching out a bit further than his old Queens neighborhood now that he was mastering his web-shooting. Slinging? He was working on that name, too.

 

The few hours between the end of school and curfew were more than enough to, say, grab a child away from a kitchen fire, or pull a wanna-be future YouTube star out of the river. Or save an old man from some thugs. “ _Seriously_?” he chided as he used his webbing to yank one of them back. “You really don’t have anything better to do tonight?”

 

His eyes quickly scanned the trio for weapons, but he didn’t waste time, either. If his first glance didn’t spy guns, then he let his senses tell him when to dodge. They were pretty good at that, when he trusted them. His only gunshot wound was still from those SHIELD guys, and he wasn't keen on repeating that experience, even if it had just been a graze. They were probably the only thing that kept him from getting banged up, which in turn kept Steve from worrying even more. Peter felt awful about how much he was worrying his cousin, so minimizing the worry was always a bonus.

 

He still didn’t know how much Steve knew about his abilities, but he was sure that Steve knew _something_. While Steve's various comments about Peter's after-school activities could be chalked up to paranoia, there was no way they had missed how fast his scrapes had healed. Even if Steve didn’t have a determination on how quickly normal injuries healed, he was pretty sure Mr. Stark did, considering how beat up he’d looked on Christmas day...and the little ways he was pretty sure Mr. Stark was testing him. And Dr. Banner’s lessons had also taken a sharp turn into medical science and biology. Peter wasn’t an idiot. They had to know. There was no way it was all just a coincidence.

 

And yet, they hadn’t said anything. At the very least, Peter would have expected a lot of jokes about the ‘man’ part of his name from Mr. Stark if they knew about his hero name.

 

The jokes wouldn’t have stopped him, of course. “ _When you have as much power as I do_ ,” Ben had said once, as he took off his jacket after a long, _long_ weekend at the precinct, “ _you have a responsibility to use that power for the good of the people. Sometimes people forget that. They think their power means they're better than others, smarter than others. That their decisions are always right, and just, because they are the ones in charge. That’s no good_.”

 

Ben was gone now, but Peter was still here. _With great power-_

 

“OOF!” one of the thugs grunted out as Peter shot a web to hold him up against the wall. He’d added a filter to his left wrist that sprayed out a more web-like web, rather than just a dragline. The test stage for that was going fantastic, which meant he just needed to figure out how to use it more seamlessly so he could put it on both wrists. 

 

“Nice!” Peter cheered as he ducked under an attempted punch, putting himself firmly between the old man and the two remaining bad guys.

 

“So, you’re the Spider- _Man_ -"

 

“I really don’t appreciate it when people make fun of my height,” Peter quipped, not giving him a chance to finish. At least he had the advantage that his voice wasn’t cracking much right now. It had gotten real bad over the summer, but now it seemed like it was settling for the time being. Now most jabs about his height. Well, and people trying to imply he was a girl because apparently that was their idea of an insult, but he chose to hit those with a ‘you really think I’m in the same league as Black Widow? Thanks!’

 

Peter had taken Steve’s advice to scale back, though it wasn’t entirely because Steve had asked him to. He felt bad about the apartment getting set on fire, and even worse about the car he’d destroyed since that one was _entirely_ his fault. So he’d decided he needed to take things more slowly, focus on things he was sure about.

 

Like unarmed thugs picking on an old man. This was his power, this was his responsibility.

 

Plus, if he was being honest with himself, when he was out there as Spider-man he felt more confident and more free and, well, safer. Partly because of that ‘danger is following you’ feeling he got when he was just Peter Parker (which really wasn't helping his paranoia, either), but also because he could defend himself in costume. He could stop the bad things from happening. He could protect people like Ben.

 

“Why don’t you jump away, little spider? This is none of your business.”

 

“Well, it's...none of _your_ business!” He was still working on his comeback game. The chattering did help keep his nerves calm, though. 

 

The old man wasn’t running off. That worried Peter somewhat due to the danger and possibility of injury. There was also the way the man was watching him, though Peter kept reminding himself that was probably just because, well, a teenager in sweatpants was bouncing off the walls and tying up bad guys in his webs.

 

They weren’t much of a challenge, despite their attempts at trash-talking. “Thank you, thank you,” the old man said as he fixed his scarf. It looked luxurious. Peter realized that the coat was from the same company Pepper had bought his hoodie from, and he had a briefcase, too. He stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. “Will they, uh, be alright?”

 

“It dissolves in a few hours.” Peter glanced over at the trio, tied together on the wall. “Uhm, actually, I’ll probably let them down once we get you out of here.” When he looked back, the man had taken his scarf off, and suddenly Peter realized why he was so well-off. “Doctor Hassan!” he exclaimed. This was his doctor. The one that had been vetted and approved by SHIELD and CPS and Steve (and Mr. Stark, since he'd paid the bill) to check up on him after the Oscorp incident.

 

“Oh, do you know me?”

 

“No! I mean, yes, but not really, I’ve, uh, just seen you before.”

 

“A patient? Oh, no, never mind that, you don’t have to answer-“

 

“No. No, definitely not a patient.”

 

“Don’t tell me I took your mom on a date once.”

 

“What, _no._  Do you want me to, uh, walk you to the…bus stop?”

 

“Oh, no, no, I’m sure I can manage.” The man offered his hand, and Peter readily accepted it. “Thank you for saving me, Mr. Spider-Man.” Peter’s gut churned, just for a moment, and he immediately glanced over his shoulder. 

 

The trio was still strung up. “If you’re sure.”

 

“This neighborhood isn’t that unsafe, young man.”

 

“Oh, no, I know, I just…you have a lot of nice stuff?” He wasn’t sure why he felt uncomfortable now. Had whoever was setting off his danger sensors finally realized Peter Parker was Spider-Man? Or…maybe someone else was after Spider-Man. He took in a deep breath and focused on his task. The wealthy old doctor needed to get home.

 

“You suppose there may be more thieves?”

 

“No. Maybe? A lot people are really hurting these days. Sometimes, they do bad things to heal that hurt. That doesn’t necessarily mean that _they_ are bad. Maybe, sometimes, they’re just desperate.” 

 

“Wise words, for someone so young. Even those in charge don’t seem to realize that. Perhaps you are a man, after all.” The man glanced at his phone as a notification beeped from it. “Ahh my ride is waiting for me. Thank you again young man.”

 

“Where –“ A sleek, black car had pulled up to a nearby street corner. The hairs on his arms stood on end when he caught the driver’s eyes. Maybe that was who was giving him danger vibes. “Your driver doesn’t seem to like me.”

 

“Don’t take it personally, he doesn’t like anyone. Well, I do hope we meet again.  Under better circumstances, of course.” 

 

The hair on Peter’s head was practically tingling. “Yeah, of course.  You should get going though. I, uh, have a sixth sense about danger, and there is definitely danger around here.”

 

“Is that so? Well, I’ll take your word for it.”

 

A church bell up the road began to ring out the hour – seven bells for seven o’clock. “Woops, gotta get home. Hey, thugs-" He ran back to them, pulling his new (and still being improved) dissolving agent from his pocket. “Technically you didn’t hurt him or steal anything, and I don’t actually have any proof that a crime was committed, so I’m going to let you go. And you’re going to go because that guy looked like he has a really good lawyer. Got it? Good.” The teen carefully walked up the wall to ensure he had a clean get away for himself before dissolving away his webs. It didn’t completely get rid of them, but it weakened them enough that the trio could pull themselves off the wall. “Let’s not meet again, ok? See ya!”

 

With another fwip, he was gone. The thugs didn’t even try to follow him.

 

He snatched up his stuff from the top of his game shop, ducking behind the gaudy old sign to change before hurrying off to meet up with Ned. The night’s plan had been ‘more health chemistry aka the subject at least partially known as biology’ with Dr. Banner as their teacher. Peter wasn’t even that mad. It _was_ useful-ish information, and Dr. Banner practically glowed when he was teaching them. It was clear that he was meant to be a professor. He loved it so much.

 

That wasn't how the night turned out, though.

 

When they arrived back at the penthouse, the two teens found one Steve Rogers and one Clint Barton sitting in a mess of gaming systems, controllers, and games. Mr. Barton was showing Steve what all of the cords hooked up to while explaining the fine concepts of Mario Party.

 

“Wasn’t Christmas two months ago?” Ned joked as he dove in to help clean up.

 

“Welcome home!” Mr. Barton greeted. “Steve wanted to know more about teens these days-“

 

“That’s _not_ what I said,” Steve retorted.

 

“-so I thought it was high time you two taught him about the most important part of a modern childhood. And Tony was paying, so why not get, well, everything?” Peter had thought he  _had_ just about everything after Christmas. Apparently, he was wrong. There were a few systems he'd never even seen before in the pile.

 

“You really don’t have to try to ‘be cool,’” Peter mumbled. 

 

“I said I wanted to understand the world you’re growing up in,” Steve clarified. “Since it seems like everything new thing I learn, there’s ten more mysteries waiting just beyond the next corner. And…then there’s also memes. And ‘trolls’…and-”

 

“And that’s why we’re going to catch him up on pop culture and hopefully help bridge some gaps,” Mr. Barton laughed. “I know, we need more than video games, but this seems like the best place to start.”

 

They’d certainly made a mess, with boxes and plastic and ties in piles all around the room. Out on the balcony, Peter saw Dr. Banner on the phone. His fist was clenched at his side, his eyes were shut tight. Peter carefully made his way over to that side of the room, picking up trash as he went. “ _It’s too dangerous to try to train the Hulk. The Hulkbuster armor is almost finished, that will – no we aren’t going to test it on the real thing!”_ Peter saw Dr. Banner’s arm reel back from the corner of his eye. As soon as he looked up, he realized the man had thrown his phone from the tower.

 

“Is Dr. Banner ok?” he asked. “He seems upset.” Steve leapt up immediately at his words, bolting out onto the freezing balcony. Mr. Barton pulled Peter back away from the glass door.

 

“You gotta be a real jerk to be mean to Dr. Banner,” Ned said, not even glancing up from the stack of games he was choosing between. “We should probably start Steve off on something easy…maybe Little Big Planet? They’ve got really easy levels to get him started with platforming. Or maybe Mario Cart-“

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I promise,” Dr. Banner mumbled to his friend as he hurried in. “Honest.”

 

“I know,” Steve replied. “But you’ll let me know if that changes, right?”

 

“Oh you can count on that-“ His eyes locked with Peter’s and he immediately stopped whatever train of thought he had been on. “You boys won’t be mad if I head home for the night, will you? I’m just not feeling up to teaching right now.”

 

“No, it’s cool,” Peter said. “Gotta take care of yourself first. I know a _lot_ about that.”

 

“Thank you.” The doctor paused to pat Peter’s shoulder. “Play a few rounds for me. That seems like a great way to vent out some anger.”

 

“You’ve never played video games?” Ned exclaimed.

 

“Not in a long, long time. I, uh, get too into them. Trust me. It’s a bad idea. You guys enjoy for me, alright? Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight,” the room echoed, though Peter noticed how Steve and Mr. Barton watched him closely as he left. 

 

If someone – probably SHIELD, because the answer to most things seemed to be SHIELD these days – wanted to train the Hulk, that meant he was definitely or at least most likely on Earth. Then there was the idea itself. Training the Hulk, like he was some kind of dog. Which he could be. Dr. Banner was an expert in biology, too. Hulk could secretly be a hairless green King Kong for all they knew. Which…probably meant they shouldn’t try to 'train' him. Or use a ‘Hulkbuster’ on him. Avoiding a real-life 'Planet of the Apes' scenario seemed like a win. 

 

“I think I’m going to make sure he gets back to the tower ok,” Mr. Barton said after a moment, not waiting for a reply before he, too, left for the night.

 

Ned wasn’t phased, but Ned also wasn’t paying attention. Steve was. Peter tried not to glance over because he knew Steve’s eyes were focused on him. He didn’t need his spider-senses to know that. “Well, I guess there goes any team games,” Peter forced himself to say.

 

 _Is he going to check on Hulk_? the teen couldn’t help but wonder. Going behind the back of the caretakers of a giant mutant smashing gorilla certainly seemed like something a shady organization would do when told no, and Dr. Banner didn’t seem to be much of a fighter. But if it was that serious, Peter knew Steve would have gone, too.

 

Maybe.

 

After all, he didn’t disobey and go after Mr. Stark. But that was also because he was watching over Dr. Banner. Peter was sure of that much. Which actually made sense, if he was the Hulk’s caretaker.

 

… _Is Hulk in the tower?!_

 

“We could play games where we’re all on one team,” Ned offered. “OR – we could play Super Smash Brothers.”

 

“You just want to kick Captain America’s a-butt.” 

 

“Of course I do!”

 

“Why don’t you two show me how to play first?” Steve offered, turning to fish around for the appropriate game. Peter noticed a few empty frames hanging on the wall behind him, just waiting for photos. Still, he seated himself at the far end of the couch, keeping Ned between them. They still hadn't talked, even though things seemed to feel a little bit less intense each day. 

 

“And miss the chance to beat you in a fight?” Peter said before he could stop himself. It was so teasing. So normal.

 

“Ohhh, so that’s how it is. Would it really be satisfying if it’s easy?”

 

“YES!” Ned declared.

 

“I guess that means you get to take on Ned first for practice, then you can try beating me,” Peter offered. He also managed to smile. And Steve smiled back.

 

“I suppose so,” the man said.

 

The next few hours passed by all too quickly, and Ned was reluctant to leave. Steve picked up on things fast, but he had no way to know the particular strengths and weaknesses of the characters he hadn't seen yet. Which meant that all Ned had to do to keep winning was keep picking new characters and stay away from teaching Steve about Samus's powerset.

 

“So, these are characters pulled from other games, right?” Steve asked as he and Peter cleaned up.

 

“Yep. That's the biggest selling point for the game – take everyone's favorite characters from their favorite Nintendo games and make them fight.”

 

“So, is...The, uh, character I was playing, suit girl-"

 

"Samus."

 

"Right. Is she based on Tony?”

 

“No, no no. Metroid is a really old game from like the 80s or 90s or something. It's a really great sci-fi series. We, uh, we can play it next...I think...Ah, yep, here it is! It's really old school.”

 

“It's all new school to me.” Silence fell over them again as Peter tried to sort the games. They didn't exactly have a shelf to store them on yet, so he just made piles beside the TV stand since all its shelves were taken up with various gaming platforms. “So, how is, uhm, school? Not too boring, I hope?”

 

“...It's always been pretty boring. But the teachers are leaving me alone.”

 

"That's good." Then it was silent again as the awkward space between them returned. Only this time there was no Ned to fill it. Or Dr. Banner, or- "Pete-"

 

"I'm sorry, ok?!" It just spilled out. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I just want May home and I  _know_ SHIELD knows something and you work for SHIELD so why don't you know that too? You're Captain America! And like if you don't know then that means they're hiding something from you or you're not trying hard enough and I don't want either of those things to be true. Because I know it is true that they have something to do with Oscorp. I saw them in Dr. Amadei's office, and she was the one in charge of the labs that got attacked."

 

"...Well." He could see Steve making some choices. The man's eyes were his giveaway. He always looked to something in the room to ground himself. Like a picture on the wall of him and his cousin in matching ugly sweaters. "I want to know why I didn't know, too. SHIELD has classification levels, and apparently that's above my level. But Maria's looking into it for us. For now, we need to give her time. I want answers, too, but it's not going to happen overnight. I promise. I would never lie to you."

 

Peter almost broke the game case he was holding in half. "Sorry."

 

"No, it's...I can see why you might have thought that. I'm going to do a better job of telling you what I find out, if I find things out. But, I hope you understand why I'm concerned, too."

 

"I don't  _mean_ to go back."

 

"You definitely didn't break in on accident."

 

"I...I just keep...ending up there. Like, I mean to go somewhere else but I end up there. I hate Oscorp. I can't look at it without thinking about...you know. I don't mean to, but I just, it...it just happens. I haven't gone back to that neighborhood since last time, though. It's been kind of hard not going to Delmar's. They've got the best subs in the city."

 

"I'll get some for dinner tomorrow then. Just...please, trust me. I just want you to be safe, and happy, and healthy. And not a criminal."

 

"...what if SHIELD did it?"

 

"Then we'll deal with SHIELD. I'm sure Tony would have a  _lot_ of fun weeding out any corruption."

 

"Do you think we'll ever find May?"

 

"... _if_ she's out there, we'll find her." The towering man knelt down next to his cousin, pulling him into a secure hug. "I promise." Peter could have stayed there a while, warm and safe and sure, but unfortunately, the two of them didn't live alone at the moment.

 

"I'm hooome," Mr. Stark's voice carried in through the front door. Peter let out a sigh of relief. "You should be very proud of me. I got a lot of work done today."

  
"On a suit?"

 

"No. I met with my surgeon. Pete inspired me. It's not a good superhero look when your best friend's teenager is braver than you are."

 

"That's great!" 

 

Peter didn't have answers. He didn't know if SHIELD was good or bad. He didn't know where May was, or who had attacked the labs. But he knew that Steve cared about him. That was something he was sure of. There was something else Ben had taught him, though it was certainly less poignant than his usual mantra: Family might not always be who you expect, but when you find yours, hold onto them. Ben and his mom had come from such a small family that they'd always opened their arms to anyone who needed their support. Peter's friends, their neighbors, their communities.

 

And now, Peter's family included the Avengers.

 

He wasn't going to let his family go. Not this time. Not ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight's chapter was a bit late, and next week's probably will be too, and I apologize for that. I think I overestimated the amount of spare time I'd have these first few weeks of the month.
> 
> But in other news, we've got some fun fun times ahead.


	25. Chapter 24

For most teenagers, teaching Captain America how to play video games probably would have been the highlight of their decade. For Peter, it was just another Monday.

 

The rest of the week that followed was a spiral of madness. From the way everyone was acting, Peter wouldn't have faulted anyone for thinking that an alien army was on its way. Mr. Stark had even given his whole affair the codename 'Loki's Revenge.' Because, for him, it felt that way. If Peter thought he had no freedom between his curfew and the tracker in his phone, suddenly the man who was accustomed to having all of the freedom to literally do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to do it was under constant surveillance.

 

Everything happened quickly, apparently by Mr. Stark's own request. He was worried he'd back out if he didn't just get it done. So they were getting it done immediately.

 

Two days after his big announcement, Steve, Pepper, Mr. Barton, Ms. Romanov, and a large chunk of SHIELD personnel accompanied Mr. Stark to a 'private, secure location' that Peter technically wasn't supposed to know about. But it wasn't his fault Mr. Stark had been talking about it with Pepper in their bedroom. It wasn't like he actively tried to listen in on conversations. But they were _right there_. 

 

Mr. Stark wanted to go to Florida, or California, or someplace warm. SHIELD wasn't budging on keeping him close to their headquarters, though. 

 

With Dr. Banner still not in a sociable mood after whatever had happened on Monday, Steve had entrusted Peter to stay home alone for the first few days and Peter had taken full advantage of being able to play the sympathy card with Jarvis to stay out past curfew and skip therapy. Jarvis had offered to keep him company but Peter insisted it wasn't personal, he just needed human contact. (Spider-man to human, but Jarvis didn't need to know that.)

 

Steve had come home for a few days, only to go back the following Thursday with the expectation of bringing Mr. Stark home on Friday. 

 

Which didn't happen. Mr. Stark was 'too fussy,' as Mr. Barton had put it over text. Peter wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but if he had to guess he figured the man had probably done exactly what Peter would have done: Gone stir crazy and damaged himself.

 

Peter couldn't skip therapy two weeks in a row, though. Dr. Keller would tell Steve if he did. So come Friday after school, his toes tapped on her carpeted floor as his fingers took apart one of her office pens...and put it back together again for the 20th time. 

 

It wasn't like he was (primarily) going out as Spider-man to chase after his concerns about how SHIELD was involved with what happened at Oscorp, or hunting down Norman to find out if _he_ knew the truth, or anything like that. Peter knew he wasn't skilled enough for that. He remembered the burn of the gunshot across his thigh. He was going to trust Steve's judgment on this. But he wasn't going to just leave his city without a guardian, either.

 

Not that he really did much, but even Captain America started out selling bonds. His textbooks insisted that this somehow helped him out, though Peter wasn't sure he understood how that was possible.

 

“Peter, do you not want to be here tonight?” Dr. Keller asked. He could barely keep his eyes from trailing out the window.

 

“No! I mean – It's not that I don't want to be here, it's that...I'd...prefer to be somewhere else more?”

 

 “Is everything alright at home?”

 

“Fine. Great, actually. Uhm, I taught Steve how to play video games.”

 

“So Steve wasn't so mad at you after all, was he?” He'd almost forgotten that he'd told her about their fight. Not much. Not even as much as he'd told Ned. That was the one good thing about therapy - she insisted she'd only push as far as he was comfortable. So he could just say he wasn't comfortable and get a free pass to only talk about his feelings. Like, say, feeling guilty for letting his anger get the better of him and yelling at Steve. She didn't need to know more than that.

 

“No. Well, I think he was, but not like mad-mad, but parent mad. He worries, you know? And I guess if I had to choose I prefer worry over not really caring, or only caring about things that don’t matter, so...it's not the worst thing.”

 

“It sounds like there’s more you want to talk about.”

 

Of course, it was also her job to try. But he hated it most when she started prying into the spaces between his words. Seeing through him like he was a piece of paper. He hated feeling so vulnerable. Peter wasn’t sure if this was how therapy usually was supposed to go, but he was sure that he didn’t like it. “No, not really.” There was a lot he wanted to talk about with _someone_ , but the someone he wanted to talk to definitely wasn’t her. Even if Google searches told him that sometimes therapy would feel like it was prying, even if they warned him that sometimes he wouldn’t feel comfortable. Even if he trusted her…which he was pretty sure he didn’t. 

 

“Peter, everything you say in here is protected. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“There isn’t anything else to say. I...I was staying out too late, Steve was getting worried, and now I’m not so he’s better. It’s normal dad stuff.”

 

“Dad stuff?”

 

“…yeah.”

 

“It sounds like you’re becoming very close with your cousin. Why would you be staying out so late then?”

 

“Because I have a lot of stuff to do!” he snapped. “…sorry. I just, you know, it’s, uhm, a lot of weird nerd stuff. It's embarrassing. I don’t want to talk about it.” He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about any of the nerdy things he did. D&D was loads of fun...when he wasn’t distracted. But she didn’t know that, and she didn’t need to know that.

 

“Does Steve think it’s embarrassing?”

 

“No. I don’t think he understands what it is though. He’s not like those crazy 80s parents thinking everything they didn’t understand was automatically Satanic, but he doesn’t get the whole…well, any of it.”

 

“But he played video games with you?”

 

“Yeah. He picked Samus for Super Smash Brothers because he thought her armor was really practical for a brawling game. That is just…the  _most_  Steve thing.”

 

“A few months ago, you said you weren’t sure you’d ever feel at home in that penthouse with the Avengers as your guardians. Is that still true?”

 

“It…it doesn’t feel  _normal_ but is feels normal. Does that make sense? Like, I know I’m different from everyone else. I know I have something almost no one could-" He bit back his words, reminding himself that Mr. Barton’s kids were secret.

 

“Almost no one could what?”

 

“Well, no one really will understand. I mean, Ned knows about it so he comes the closest but I’m the only non-Avenger that’s actually like always in their business. All their friends can choose to go away if they need a minute. Even Pepper is always busy literally running a company. I...I don't get to do that. Go, I mean. Not that I want to! But I'm always right there and no one else is literally always right there, except for the other Avengers.”

 

“Does it get stifling?”

 

“No? Not usually.”

 

“Is it stifling right now?”

 

 _Yes_. “No.” He had to lie to her. Mr. Stark’s surgery seemed like it was one of the most top-secret endeavors ever undertaken. Apparently even The Super Soldier Program hadn’t been kept as tightly under wraps. No one had actually stopped to tell Peter how much he was allowed to say, but most of what he knew had been gleaned from whispers beyond his bedroom door when they were no doubt certain he couldn’t hear them. He wanted so badly to give them privacy for it, too, but he'd also sometimes heard them whispering about him and his health, and he certainly didn't want to be blindsided by a surprise trip to another doctor that he didn't want to see. So…now he listened in. It was bad. He felt bad doing it. But he did not want any unwanted surprises.

 

“Peter, I don’t want to make you talk about things that you don’t want to talk about, you know that – but you’ve been really uncomfortable tonight. Is something wrong?”

 

“…not really. Kind of? Usually, but not like…not new stuff. Just…everything.” _When in doubt, spew words,_ he reminded himself. _It works for Spider-Man, and it could work for Peter Parker._

 

“Ok. Hm. So how about this. Instead of telling me about things that are happening, why don’t you just try to find words to describe your feelings? You don’t have to tell me anything about  _why_  you feel that way. But it does seem to me that you’re still having a hard time pinning down how you’re feeling, which can cause you to act out in ways you don’t intend. Is that a fair interpretation?”

 

“…yes.” It was the most honest thing he’d said all week. He knew he was feeling everything from joy and excitement and hope to pure terror and confusion and uncertainty, and it was more than all of those all put together.

 

“Alright. So how about we try giving them a shape. How are you feeling, Peter Parker?”

 

“I…am feeling…a lot. And not much at the same time? But it really is a lot, like all the time – that doesn’t make any sense.” He buried his face in his hands. Nothing made sense, if he was being honest with himself (and, really, since he was lying to everyone else, the least he could do for his own sanity was not lie to himself). Even his powers didn’t make total sense. Sure, he had made an agreement with his senses to just trust them, but he still didn’t really understand them. The Oscorp stuff didn’t make sense. SHIELD’s involvement didn’t make sense. Even right and wrong didn’t really make sense anymore. Thieves were supposed to be the bad guys…but then again, Robin Hood was a hero. Not that the Perp was Robin Hood or anything. But he wasn’t like the bad guys from the Home Alone movies, either.

 

“Feelings don’t have to make logical sense. It’s common for them to be in conflict with each other.”

 

“Right. You’ve said that before.”

 

“And I’ll say it again, every time you need a reminder. All of these feelings are perfectly normal, even if the things causing them are one in a billion events. So, please, continue.”

 

“Right…so, uhm. Well, I guess, I feel like I don’t make a lot of sense. I feel pretty ok, usually. Like, not completely ok but ok enough to just be me, and it’s not like it’s an act it’s really me, usually…uhm…”

 

“Let’s talk about that ‘usually’ for a moment. Sometimes you do feel like you are acting?”

 

“Well, I can’t not. Like, at school, if I look upset people get weird about it and that just makes it worse, so I have to always act like I’m ok. I can’t be upset at school, no matter what, because I just…I just want them to leave me alone.”

 

“And outside of school?”

 

“That…is easier.” _Sometimes_. “I haven’t been hiding that I’ve been upset. And…that…kind of upsets me? I don’t feel like I have a right to be mad at him, but I am...er, well I don’t even know if I’m actually mad at him anymore. I definitely was, but I don’t think I am now? And we played video games, and that was fun. Real fun, not acting fun. And it was like we’d never fought at all, and that was kind of confusing, too. But good. I want things to be like that. Good, I mean. Not confusing.”

 

“That’s a good goal, but don’t be afraid to be angry sometimes, too. Remember-“

 

“I know!...Sorry. I know, it’s ok to be angry after everything I’ve been through it’s a normal response – I know. I just don’t  _want_  to be angry.”

 

“But you might have to let yourself be angry, at least for a little while. It won’t feel good, but you’ve been telling me about how angry you’ve felt since our first session. If you don’t want to feel angry anymore, then you’re going to need to deal with that anger so you can move past it.  Have you talked to Steve about how angry you’ve been feeling?”

 

“No.”

 

“I think that may be a good next step for you, when you’re ready to take it.”

 

“ _Yeah_. I know.”

 

But Steve was currently somewhere in Maryland, standing guard over Mr. Stark. But he’d be home tomorrow. With Mr. Stark, and who knew how many SHIELD agents, all ready to stand guard at their penthouse, just in case word got out about the surgery.

 

Peter wasn’t looking forward to going home, despite the pure ice that the sky was dumping on them. On one hand, he’d have the entire place to himself for the last time for who knew how long. On the other hand…he’d be alone. So of course, after therapy, he went out to patrol his old neighborhood. They needed someone to look after them a lot more than his new neighborhood did. Plus, he just liked it more.

 

Given the weather, he found himself pulling on and zipping Steve’s coat all the way up to his chin. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than his hoodie.

 

There were a lot of people trying to head home, and he found himself catching more than a few skidding cars. “Go slow, keep a good distance between you and the other guy,” he found himself repeating more than once. And that was just the cars - he was also helping more than his fair share of people just  _walk_. “Woah there!” he yelped, catching a grown man who was easily more than twice his size before the guy could eat pavement. “Working late?”

 

“So are you,” the man replied. “Thanks.” He hefted up a giant tub of paint and hauled it to his beat up old van.

 

“Do you want some help?”

 

“…Sure. All my stuff is just inside the entrance.”

 

“Doing some remodeling?”

 

“Hired to do some, yeah.”

 

“Ahhh.”

 

It was easy to haul his equipment. Peter was really only limited by the size of his arms. The two of them made quick work, joking all the while about the weather. 

 

Inside the van there was all kinds of tools and equipment. That was normal. But when Peter shoved in the last five-gallon bucket of paint, he accidentally knocked something over. What it was didn't matter - it was what had been behind it that caught his eye. Nestled in a coil of cords was something that almost made his muscles clench up at the sight.

 

“That’s-“ He nearly leapt out of his shoes when a hand came down on his shoulder.

 

“Can I repay you by buying you dinner? There’s a nice cheap Greek place around the corner. Maybe this will let up a bit after we eat.”

 

“No, I-I can’t, I-“

 

“I promise, no tricks…I know you probably don’t have any reason to trust me, Kid, but I swear, I’m not a bad person.”

 

His senses weren’t so much as flinching. And he _was_ hungry. And it would be nice to warm up before going home. “I…but you’re…you steal things!”

 

“Can you prove that?”

 

“…No! But…I’m…you’re not a good guy. And…I…I, uhm…You have a day job too?!”

 

“This is new. Come on, let me lock up. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I just…I dunno. I’m glad you’re ok.”

 

“After your cousin super-tased me?”

 

“I thought you’d broken your arm or something-“

 

“I did...I think.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

“It’s better now. I heal fast.”

 

“That’s good. Can I lock my van?”

 

Peter glanced at its contents one more time. Nothing appeared to be stolen furniture or anything of that nature. It was all remodeling stuff. He could take the super-taser, but then do what with it? Drop it off at a police station? “Uhm. Can I just-“ He couldn’t leave it there. So he grabbed it.

 

“Hey now, come on, I’m still making payments on that-“

 

“Oops?” Peter said as he honestly and truly accidentally crushed part of the device in his hand. He was cold, and his hands were trembling, and he was ridiculously strong.

 

“That’s not fair.”

 

“Well, robbing people isn’t fair either.” He dropped the device back in the van, his stomach winning out in its demands for dinner.

 

It was weird, crawling into a hole in the wall place with someone who was technically supposed to be his enemy. He should take the guy to the cops. It wouldn't be hard. He could probably carry him there. But technically he wasn’t doing anything wrong right now, and there wasn't any clear evidence that he was guilty, other than the now-broken super-taser in his possession. Actually, it looked like the guy was doing something very right.

 

Peter decided, for the moment, that if SHIELD was secretly murdering people then it was very possible that the Penthouse Perp might actually be not the worst person. Sure, he wasn't great. But he wasn't the  _worst_. 

 

But that was mostly the hunger thinking for him.

 

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask what you’re doing out in this weather,” the Perp said as they chowed down.

 

“Just doing what I do best.”

 

“Causing trouble?”

 

“Helping people cross the street, stopping people from crashing, loading up vans for your average handyman. Y’know. Just being your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

 

“Ahh. Our own personal goody two shoes. Just what we need, eh?”

 

“More than we need a burglar.”

 

“Hey, hey now-“

 

“What? If you’re gonna take shots at me-“

 

“Ok, ok. Fine...Look, I know...I know you don't think much of me, but I'm really not a bad guy. Life ain’t as black and white as people want it to be. Sometimes, Lady Justice is wrong, and just blindly sides with those who are in power. I mean...I'm not totally innocent, sure, I was stealing from a poor innocent gas station, but I was never guilty of what they accused me of." The man paused to chuckle, but Peter could hear the dark sadness in his throat. "Resisting arrest, they said it was. Oh, and threatening them with a weapon. That's the real felony. I had a pocket knife on me. Thought it was cool, and I liked feeling cool. But even though I didn't even take it out they insisted I was 'going for it.' Given what I've heard on the news lately, I guess getting arrested wasn't the worst thing that could've happened to me." He paused to take a bite. "Anyway. They offered me three years, a steal, right? They told me if I went to trial I could get 25 years, just for pissing off the judge. Well, they didn't put it that way, but they implied it, you know? Plus there was just the waiting _for_ trial in the first place. I…I wanted to have a life, you know? I was nineteen. I was scared. I just wanted to have a life. So I took the plea deal. I didn’t know what I was really agreeing to, or just how much pleading guilty could fuck you up. I thought after three years that would be it. I’d have served the time, I’d be free again and just get started with my life then. Maybe a bit tougher and a bit cooler for having survived prison. But that’s not how it works.”

 

“But don’t they have to give you a lawyer to prove-“

 

“That don’t mean shit, kid. The lawyer was the one who warned me about the judge. Justice is only for the rich…but hey, look at me, starting a business over here. I wouldn’t have done that before.”

 

“Technically you used stolen money to start it.”

 

“Prove it.”

 

“…I can’t.”

 

“Mmhm. Look, I tried to do all the right things. It just…doesn’t work out that way most of the time.” The Perp offered him the rest of his fries, and Peter’s rumbling stomach forced him to take them. “You getting enough to eat?”

 

“Yes…uhm, the spider-powers make me a lot hungrier than normal people. If I don’t eat a lot, I get dizzy.”

 

“Wow. That sucks…no, that’s a gift. Means you can stuff your face with _anything_ you want and you’ll never get a beer gut.” The Perp's eyes turned up towards the window. “Ah, look, at least it stopped raining.” The snow was starting to accumulate, but it was slushy snow.

 

“...there's going to be a lot of car crashes, isn't there?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“I need to get back to work.”

 

“Isn't it past your curfew?”

 

“Do you know anyone else who can pick up a car?”

 

“Ok, ok, just...be careful out there. We need good people like you. And I'm sure that cousin of yours would be really sad if something happened to you.”

 

“...Yeah. You, uh, be safe too. And no more stealing!”

 

"I'll do my best. For you, Spider-Kid!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized editing this that I did not make an adequate timeline. Three days isn't really a reasonable amount of time for surgery and healing before shipping Tony back to New York, so I added a week in there and had Peter skip another therapy session in between. Which, really, he doesn't like therapy anyway so that was easy enough to do. Sorry if its a little clunky though.
> 
> Edit: to anyone who read the version where I accidentally left one of my notes to myself in it, I am so so sorry. I usually leave notes for myself as reminders because I write in so many different places and at so many different times of day, but I always take them out. I guess I didn't hold that one enough and glanced over it by mistake in my rush to fix other issues with the chapter. I'm sorry.


	26. Chapter 25

“219 to Dispatch,” an officer called in over the radio. The night was shaping up to be absolute chaos. For some reason, even though there was statistically no probable way that everyone on the road was driving in the snow for the first time, everyone was still acting like they’d never seen snow before in their lives. “We’ve got another 10-53 head-on collision up here, looks like there may be some inj–what the fu-HEY KID! GET OUT O-oh. Woah.”

 

“What’s going on out there?” a voice came back through.

 

“There’s…there’s a kid, I think, they just flew in? And picked up a car. With their hands. Literally just picked it  _up_.” And helped those who could walk put some distance between themselves and the crash. It looked like everyone between the two vehicles was walking, though her experience had taught her that didn’t mean much.

 

“You better just need an extra cup of Joe because I know you aren’t wasting my time with a  _joke_  at a time like this.”

 

“I’m serious!” The officer flicked on her lights and wailed out her siren as she scrambled for her megaphone. She didn’t get the chance to use it, though, as the kid jumped over to her patrol car. “10-6. I’m going to talk to the kid.”

 

“Good evening officer,” a young but thankfully not prepubescent voice called out through the ski mask. “I know, I know, stay out of the way, but it’s really bad out tonight, and I don’t want people to get hurt. I’ve stopped crashes on-“

 

“Who are you?”

 

“What? Oh, I’m Spider-Man.”

 

“…Spider-Man.  _Spider…Man._ ” Both of those words were absurd in their own rights, and yet he’d said them without even an ounce of shame.

 

“Yes Ma’am.”

 

Underneath the kid’s giant coat, she could see a hoodie with what looked to be a spider web design painted onto it. “We really don’t need kids out here thinking they’re Avengers and getting in our way tonight. Go home, kid.”

 

“I-I can’t do that. People could die.”

 

“ _You_  could die. Now, I don’t know  _how_  you did that just now, but I won’t be responsible if a car hits you, so you can either go home or I can drive you home. In the back. And I  _will_  talk to your parents.”

 

“I…uhm. Ok, so, here’s the thing. I uh, don’t have parents and my, uh, guardian is out of town at the moment-“

 

“That figures.”

 

“-And I am  _really_  freakishly strong-“

 

“I figured that part out myself.” Her interruptions did little to slow the boy down.

 

“And I heal really really fast. And I can jump really high, and run really fast, and I stick to walls, like a spider, y’know, and I have an extra sense about danger, like all of the hairs on my body stand up at once and my brain just  _makes_  me move without waiting for me to actually move, that kind of sense. Uhm, oh! I’ve invented some really cool stuff to help, like these goggles can zoom in so I can see things at a distance better. Plus, my webs, They’re awesome.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“And I’ve also been doing this sort of thing for a few months now-“

 

“Is that so?” The kid recoiled at those little words. They were dangerous in the wrong person’s ears.  

 

“I-I know you knew Ben. He was…a really great officer. Really showed me what it means to be a man, you know? And, and he always said, with great power-“

 

“Comes great responsibility,” she echoed with him. “Damnit.” Of course this tiny would-be Avenger knew Ben Parker. He was probably some kid from one of the schools Ben had gone to over the years. Maybe he’d been in one of those after school programs. She wondered if he knew her, too, since she’d helped Ben out from time to time. She couldn’t think of any kids that had shown signs of being able to pick up cars though.

 

“I can’t just let people die out here. I can help them. I’ve got the power to do that.”

 

“You can’t be older than, what, fifteen? Maybe?” His shoulders squared and his back straightened.

 

“I’m going to help people. I…I can’t just let people get hurt, not when I can do something about it.”

 

“…Ok…Ok. It’s not like I’m strong enough to force you into my car anyway, and I’m not going to shoot a kid. But you’re going to report to us and we’ll tell you what we need, you understand? This stuff is dangerous. Cars can explode, and people can get really badly hurt if you move them around unnecessarily. If you want to help people, then you’re going to need a professional keeping an eye on you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

 

And none of this was going to go into her report. She snatched up her radio to finish what she’d started. “Turns out we have a wanna-be Avenger out helping us tonight,” she told them. “He’s basically a mini Captain America, I guess. Strong and the like. Goes by the name Spider-Man.”

 

“Wait, he’s real?” the dispatcher’s voice came back through. “I thought that was a joke Seth was trying to pull on us.”

 

“He’s real. Say Hi, Spidey.”

 

“Hi,” the boy said, clearly deepening his voice as he did so.

 

“He’s going to be helping out tonight. Lord knows we could use some super strength out there.”

 

And help out he did. With the consent of the NYPD, he was able to get to potentially dangerous situations faster. Considering how fast he was before, what with being able to go over buildings rather than wasting time going around, that meant he was able to easily double the amount of work he got done. When he wasn’t being called to help with something that needed a strong arm, they left him on his own to stop cars from swerving and give stalled cars a push to get them out of traffic while waiting on their tow truck.

 

“GOT IT!” he called out as cops dove out of the way of some cars that were coasting along on top of the ice. Despite their best efforts to direct the traffic, there were always too many people who were too confident that they’d be just fine, and they weren’t. His webs were great at stopping those ones, as long as he actually caught the cars in time. That didn’t always happen and there were definitely several fender benders happening, but he could say that, so far, wherever he went, no one had died. That was a win.

 

The night was chaos, but improving. Until he heard the police radios start screaming about a car that was tilting precariously off the side of a bridge after some sort of horrific domino-effect pile up. “Where?!” he yelled at the officer closest to him. “Where is the car, I might be able to pull it back!”

 

“Kid-“

 

“I can pick up cars with my  _hands -_ you’ve seen it! Let me try to help!”

 

“…Ok.” He grabbed his radio, getting the location and letting them know he was sending some muscle – “No, I’m sending over the Spider-Man kid. He really is as strong as Vasquez said he was.”

 

Peter tucked some hothands someone had given him into the tops of his gloves and got moving. Tow trucks were already pulling some of the other cars off the bridge, and cops had set up blockades on each end to keep other traffic from piling up. There were more than a few people standing around, figuring out how they were going to get wherever they were going. Someone grumbled about how they had been on their way home to Portland from a work trip to Philly. Someone else replied about how they were on their way to Philly themselves from their own home in Vermont. They'd both underestimated the storm.

 

They both stopped as Peter bolted past them, using a sturdy street light to bypass the whole mess. The cars at the back were the luckiest, but he could see where things had gone wrong. 

 

The front of the minivan that was hanging off the bridge was entirely smashed, and it was clear that airbags had gone off. 

 

The road under them was extremely slippery. The tow trucks even had chains on their tires to combat the ice. The van did not. Peter suspected it didn't even have snow tires on. "Hey, you the 'Spider-Man' kid?" someone asked. 

 

There were reporters hanging out, too, though they thankfully couldn't get onto the bridge itself.

 

"It's just Spider-Man."

 

"You really shouldn't be here."

 

"People keep saying that, but, you know, there's no law saying a superhero can't pull a car back onto a bridge yet, so...That's what I'm going to do." He knew he couldn't pick this one up. Well, he probably could, at least a little bit, but it wouldn't be a good idea. He'd most likely just make it fall faster. And it was definitely wiggling more towards the edge with each second, thanks to the people moving around inside. "They need to stop-HEY! STOP MOVING!" They didn't listen. Or maybe they didn't hear. They did have the news on. Listening to their own breaking news story as radio stations started picking up on what was happening. The late-night hosts of whatever channel this was had apparently decided that reporting on the current road conditions was more important than playing music. 

 

The van edged forward again. This couldn't wait. It was already dangerously close to tipping off, and no one else in the city was going to be able to pull them back. Not on their own. 

 

"Put the phones away!" a cop yelled. Peter glanced around at the crowd. Almost everyone had a phone gripped in their hands. "Come on, back up!"

 

And again. Someone inside the van screamed in desperation. “I’ve got you!” Peter yelled to the people in the van as he shot his webs at their back bumper. He didn’t miss, for once, though it would’ve been hard to miss something that was right in front of his face. “Got it-“ As if to defy his celebration, his feet slid against the pavement as the van tilted further over the edge.

 

“I’VE GOT YOU!” Peter yelled again, mostly to reassure himself as he crouched down to put his palm against the ground below him, letting his sticky fingers provide additional support. “Please hold!” he begged of his body. “Please please please-NO!" His body continued to slip slowly towards the edge as the van passed the point of stability. Without his webs - without  _him_ \- it would fall in an instant. 

 

The three officers at the scene grabbed onto the dragline, digging their own boots into the salt. “It’s too slick!” one of them yelled.

 

“WE CAN DO IT!” Peter yelled back. “We’ve got to.” His mind was playing back his memories of the taxi he and his mom had taken just that one stupid time. If they'd just taken the subway, they may have gotten where they were going that day. This family deserved to get to their destination.

 

In a split second decision, he pulled his free hand up from the ground so he could shoot a line to the other side of the bridge. The van wasn’t _that_ heavy, if he put his mind to it. Certainly not more than 4 or 5 thousand pounds. He'd picked up vehicles of that size before. For a moment, sure, but he'd done it. So he could definitely do this.

 

The minivan yanked to a halt, popping every joint in Peter's arms and shoulders as it stretched out his muscles in ways he hadn't known they could stretch before. “I wonder if this is a good replacement for a chiropractor,” he mumbled as he tried to breathe through the throbbing aches. The back wheels were still on the bridge. He just had to roll it back up. That was it.

 

“HE GOT IT!” one of the officers yelled out. Was someone clapping? Maybe. Peter tried not to groan. They weren't there yet. He instead focused on the family that was depending on him. As much as he hurt, he knew they had to be hurting worse. When that car had hit their taxi, despite his mom’s best efforts to grab him and hold him and keep him safe, the force of the impact alone had been enough to mess up his neck for months. “You ok, kid?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“…ok. Uhm. Hang tight? We’ll, uh-“

 

“Just make sure no one gets in the way. I’m gonna pull them back up.”

 

“Right. Do you, uh, need-”

 

“No.” Whatever he was offering, it wasn't something Peter needed. The only thing he truly needed was the one thing they couldn't give him, and that was the power to completely flip the weather.

 

He grabbed tight onto his webs. The ones attached to the car were straining, he could feel it. Maybe having a thicker line would actually be a good idea. He really wanted the ability to change the width for the situation, but he couldn't figure out an easy way to add that to his shooters, especially not on top of the filter he'd added to get it to shoot out net-like webs. So maybe he'd just need to throw himself into getting the perfect dissolve time. That way it wouldn't matter if the line was too strong for him to break with his bare hands because it'd dissolve long before people or animals caught by it froze to death.

 

It seemed like every task he took on insisted on reminding him just how unprepared he was to handle them. But if he didn't do this, then the car would fall and the people would die.

 

So he was just going to have to do this.

 

He stomped his heel into the ice, cringing as he created a new little pothole that would no doubt not be properly patched until summer. At least it was only heel sized. He used that hole as leverage to push himself forward and his second web to pull.

 

The next stomp was more calculated. The one after that didn’t even crack the pavement. The metal on the bottom of the car screamed as it scraped its way backwards.

 

The front wheels bumped up against the bridge's edge. “Almost there!” he declared as his foot threatened to slip. There were bodies moving inside the car again. A window being rolled down. Doors opening- “PLEASE STOP MOVING!” he yelled over his shoulder as a kid, probably just a year or two younger than he was, was pushed out and into the arms of a waiting officer. “Please! I can get you if you just stop moving-“ They didn’t listen. He couldn’t blame them. If he didn’t have these powers and was in their seats he probably would have done the same thing.

 

But when a teen clambered out, Peter felt his feet lose all traction. There was just too much ice. His knees and chin plummeted to the hard ground below, and the teen shrieked as the car lost ground. Thankfully, another officer pulled her away. Peter shot another web at the opposite wall, just in case, then curled the arm holding the car closer to his body.

 

“STOP MOVING!” Peter yelled again. “I can get this.” The driver was still in the car. He could feel them. They’d been ready to hop out before he’d slipped. They were trying to crawl up to get out through the back door. Each vibration ran up his line, reminding him that he couldn’t let go. No matter what.

 

The crowd still had their cameras out, getting very good shots of his failure. 

 

“I’ve got this,” he told himself as he pushed his feet back under his body. He dug his heels back in to the small holes he had been making and focused his eyes on the other side of the road. “Just a few more steps.” Despite the ice that was raining down on them and the trembling in his arms, he pushed forward again. This time, the person in the car didn’t throw open a door.

 

This time, Peter focused on his form. His body had an almost magical equilibrium, but that didn’t excuse bad form on ice like this. Each foot found a secure hold before he put his weight on it.

 

As he focused his eyes on his goal, the world dropped into a familiar buzz. A few months ago, the buzzing was the worst sound he could have ever imagined. Now it was harmonious peace. If he could allow them to just drop off into nothing but a buzzing hum, he could tune out the parts that didn’t matter. He could give his attention to only what did matter. Like a pop quiz at the end of class, or a dragging a car back over an icy ledge.

 

He missed the cheering and clapping and screaming and crying – all that mattered was reaching the other side of the road.

 

He didn’t quite reach it, but he didn’t need to. The front wheels popped back over the edge and a few steps later someone wrapped an arm around him with a whoop. “He did it!” the stranger holding onto him cheered into the camera on their phone. “Fans, right here you have just witnessed-“

 

“GET BACK,” an officer scolded, pushing the person back before they could finish. He reached out and patted Peter gently on the back. “Good job, Kid.”

 

“Spider-Man,” Peter said instinctively.

 

“…yeah, ok, you’ve earned that. Spider-Man.” Peter could hear their walkie-talkies buzzing with traffic updates. Some of the cars that didn't need towed were being carefully guided off the bridge. Backwards, but they were getting there. The mess was looking up. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm. My squad car’s right up this way.”

 

“Uhm-“

 

“You can sit in the front seat.”

 

“You’re not going to take me somewhere, are you? Cos I need to get home soon.”

 

“Do you want a ride home?”

 

“That would probably give away who I am, so…no.”

 

“You do know vigilantism is illegal, right?”

 

“Technically, it’s not, and stopping cars from falling off bridges or helping people at car crashes isn’t vigilantism because it’s not working outside of the law, it's more of a good Samaritan kind of thing.” He’d been reading up on that, too, just to be safe. The last thing he needed was the world finding out who he was, in all his glory, because he got arrested for saving some kid’s bike. He was already pretty strongly against the parts of vigilantism that were actually illegal, like lethal force or even badly damaging force, and the one time he had hurt someone it was a complete accident and also he wasn’t wearing a mask and who was going to ever believe a scrawny kid broke someone’s ribs with a (very poorly formed) punch? Even the guy he’d punched had blamed the cops who’d tackled him a few blocks over because _he_  didn’t believe what had happened, and he was the one it had happened to!

 

“So why do you wear a mask?”

 

“I’m a freakishly strong person who can stick to walls and I’m not impervious to guns. I like not being some human lab experiment – and don’t say that’s illegal because your job is literally stopping people who are doing illegal things, and that doesn’t stop them from doing them, sooooo.”

 

The cop just laughed and gave him another pat on the back, pointing him through the traffic. “I need to get my car out of the way. How about I just drive you back to where you usually hang out and we call it a day?”

 

“Y-you know where I usually…you guys are watching me?”

 

“We did notice a drop in petty crime in the area, yes. And a sudden uptake in people cheering for some super kid walking around on the sides of buildings. We can put two and two together.”

 

“…you promise you’ll just drop me off?”

 

“I promise.”

 

Peter chewed on his lip for a minute. He was cold, and wet, and icy in places where the wet was freezing, and achy. It would be nice to get halfway home the easy way. And he knew he could just kick the door off the car if he needed to, but he didn’t want to commit more crimes and make more enemies. But also if he was taken to a station it wasn’t like any of them could physically detain him…but they could shoot him. But why would they do that?

 

Before his mind started to fall down a conspiracy rabbit hole of ‘what if the guys who did the explosion have plants in the police force who want me dead,’ he decided to hold onto the belief that most of the world wasn’t secretly evil and/or after him. Especially since he had no reason to be afraid of this particular cop. His senses weren't tingling. “Ok.”

 

As they walked out to where this officer had parked his car, Peter noticed that a news crew had parked itself near the bridge. Their van was nowhere in sight, but they’d set up on the corner with a camera aimed right up the road. The people in the cars still stuck on the bridge practically pressed their noses to the windows. Now that he wasn’t leaping around, Peter’s arms felt like giant sacks of, well, probably some kind of metal since bricks weren’t that heavy to him anymore. Still, he managed to lift one up to wave.

 

The officer grabbed a blanket from his trunk and wrapped it around Peter before the teen tucked himself into the car. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was as he let his head rest against the glass. “So Officer Vasquez said you knew Ben. Great guy, we really miss him. Hope his kid is doing alright. Well, nephew, I guess, but I only ever knew him as Dad-Ben. He had the biggest photo of the kid on his desk. Did you meet him in school?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“He inspired you to get out there and help people out, huh?”

 

“…yeah. Him and Captain America.”

 

“Haha! Yeah,  _that_  was a big surprise. We were takin’ bets if he was really actually the guy from the history books or if he was some kind of freaky clone. I wouldn’t put anything past the government, y’know? I hope I get a chance to meet him tonight.”

 

“Tonight?” The teen’s head shot up.

 

“Yeah. Heard he’s helping clear the inbound roads to the south. Guess he wants to get home as much as any of us.”

 

“He’s in New York?”

 

“So they've been saying…I shouldn’t be telling you this. You need to get home before you get sick. Don’t go chasing after your hero. Sure, you might meet him tonight, but if you get pneumonia you might not get another chance at that. And you’re doing good work, there’s no way the Avengers won’t notice you. Well, let’s be real here, they’ll probably notice you because of how strong you are. But still, you will get noticed. As long as you don’t burn yourself out before you get there.”

 

“Y-yeah, good point. Maybe I’ll find a video of me online and send it in as my audition tape.”

 

“Already got a resume started, good plan.”

 

The streets around them were much emptier than before, now that the dinner rush was over and most places were closed. But in New York, the highways were never empty. And Mr. Stark was supposed to come home tomorrow.

 

Peter could already hear him complaining about the snow. There would definitely be a few I told you so’s.

 

According to the road reports he was hearing come through the radio, he wasn’t sure that bringing Mr. Stark home right now was such a good idea.

 

“Alright, back in Queens. Any particular place you want out?”

 

“Here’s good.” He needed to backtrack a bit from where they already were, and the longer he sat the more he wondered if his body would even carry him that far.  _And_  he had to go get his phone first. Thankfully he’d stuck his backpack in a very secure place on the library. Sure, it'd be cold, but at least it'd be dry.“Thank you for the ride. I hope you have a safe night.”

 

“Thanks kid.”

 

He hurried on his way, hoping there was a chance he'd be able to get home and get dry before Steve turned up.

Peter was starting to question if his assumption that the Avengers knew about his unpaid side hustle was right, given that no one had said anything to him about it. Aside from the change in his lessons and Mr. Stark randomly throwing things at him, everything else was the same. That would be fantastic if it were true, since it meant he could wait out this whole SHIELD thing. He definitely doubted that Steve, Mr. Stark, and Mr. Banner were in on whatever it was and he was almost certain that if Mr. Barton was involved he wasn’t about to do anything to Peter about it. Maybe. Unless he was a better actor than Ms. Romanov. Which, with no offense to intended, Peter doubted. At the moment, she was the biggest wildcard. He barely knew her, and the few times he had seen her had been pretty terrifying.

 

His spider senses hadn’t pinged her as a threat, though. So even if she had a scary demeanor, she didn’t mean him any harm.

 

But even then, even if none of them meant him harm, even if they were all in the dark and SHIELD was just evil on its own and keeping them blind to it, that didn’t mean SHIELD couldn’t use them. And it probably had.

 

“Or SHIELD isn’t evil and you’re crazy,” he grumbled to himself. In his research, he’d found that members of various hate groups sometimes joined the military or local police forces in their quests for power. That didn’t mean every person in those organizations were automatically Nazis, but it did mean that at least some people were, which also meant that some people in other organizations could be, too. Those two guys could’ve been working on their own, or in league with a completely different organization. Which would make sense considering he was still alive. If he’d pissed off the entirety of SHIELD, they could easily kill him and frame it as an accident. Steve never had to know otherwise. Yet he was still here.

 

No one was routinely attacking Spider-Man or Peter Parker, even if someone was sometimes talking Peter Parker. He’d just have to deal with that if and when the time came. For now, he had to deal with the problems that weren’t keeping their distance.

 

Peter knew he was in way too far over his head, and he wasn’t even really in anything. He’d just barely poked at it slightly.

 

He just wanted May back, if he could have her back. He couldn’t keep losing people.

 

Each step towards home was heavier and heavier. The ice-rain started to let up, but the temperatures didn’t rise. After changing into the dry clothes in his backpack, he hurried home, keeping tabs on his phone as he went. Captain America was trending on basically everything. He’d stopped to say something to a news reporter. Instructions, from the looks of it. And a moment of confusion before a very clear ‘no.’ Peter saved that to actually watch later in case he didn’t catch it on the news.

 

Spider-Man was nowhere to be found, but if he plugged the right words into YouTube he did find a freshly uploaded and very very poor quality video of him being walked off by the police. The person hadn’t had a good view of what had happened, but their description basically caught the jist of it.

 

The video only had 2 views though.

 

He couldn’t find that guy who had run up to him.

 

 _I hope you’re staying inside,_  Steve’s text popped up while he was searching.  _The weather is terrible._

_I noticed. I waited for it to calm down before going home. Hope that’s ok._

_That’s fine. Just stay safe. I’ll be home soon._ After a pause, another one came through.  _I came back early because of the roads._

_I saw the news._

“Welcome home, Mr. Parker,” Jarvis greeted. “Your curfew passed-"

 

"I know! But I know you know what the weather's like out there."

 

"I am aware. You appear to be leaving puddles behind you. I recommend that you leave as many items in the foyer as you can? They can dry out there without causing greater mess."

 

"That...Is a good idea." Peter couldn't leave his hero-clothes there, but his shoes and socks didn't need to go to his bedroom with him. He decided to leave his coat and Pepper's hoodie behind as well. 

 

"And your backpack?"

 

"I need to lay out the books in it." There weren't books in it. But Jarvis didn't know that. "I'll just have to hang it up in the bathtub."

 

After a hot shower. Or maybe just a nap on the floor. Peter didn't much feel like standing up anymore. But he had news to track. 

 

 _"Cap,"_ the reporter called out, keeping him from heading off.  _"What do you know about The Spider?"_

 

_"The-what? The Spider?"_

 

_"The hero that's been helping the police tonight. He uses spider webs to swing around the city, and he's supposedly stronger than you? You do know him, don't you?"_

 

_"...no. But I will certainly make an effort to meet him."_

 

 _Fantastic,_ Peter's mind groaned. The Spider. That wasn't his name...but it was better than 'Parkour Man.' "And I'm not stronger than Steve." But what could he expect from people who were milking what information they did have for the most shocking headlines?

 

He didn't have the energy to deal with any of this tonight. His stomach was rumbling and as he tried to shower off the cold, it felt almost as though his skin had turned to ice itself. 

 

It hadn't. He checked for signs of frostbite, and he didn't quite have those. Maybe. Most likely. Nothing looked like it might fall off anytime soon, which was fantastic since he didn't want to have to find out if his healing abilities were strong enough to grow back his fingers. He was going to guess not, since spiders weren't lizards. But his joints didn't hurt, so if he was damaged he was pretty sure that his body could still heal whatever it was before it became a problem. 

 

His muscles really did ache, though. But he didn't  _think_ that was because of the cold. He was exhausted.

 

And Steve was home. Peter could hear him downstairs when he turned the shower off. Steve could be quiet when he wanted to be, but when he was tired he rarely wanted to be. There had been many missions when Steve had come home exhausted, ready to just sit down and listen to music and be at peace. 

 

The teen grabbed a spare towel after he got dressed and hurried downstairs.

 

"Hey, I figured you were still up. You wouldn't just leave all the lights on if you were sleeping, right?"

 

"Isn't that Jarvis's job?"

 

"It is, Sirs," Jarvis informed them.

 

"Here." He passed over the dry towel. Steve was dripping in their living room. He hadn't had the chance to change his own clothes yet. Here Peter had been grumbling all the way home, and he'd at least had spare clothes. Steve didn't even have that much. And he certainly wasn't complaining. Peter took in a deep breath to steel himself. What kind of future-Avenger was he, complaining about some bad weather?

 

It didn't stop his heart from pounding or his hands from trembling, though. But he'd be fine tomorrow. He was always fine the next day.

 

"Thanks. Uhm, so, heads up, I'm not going back to DC, but Tony’s not going to come home until the weather clears up. Probably Sunday, it looks like. What have you been up to?”

 

“Oh, just…stuff. Science-y stuff-" Technically, he was getting better at using his new webs. "-nerdy stuff-" And he _was_ always experimenting and seeing how those experiments worked out. "I guess I just lost track of time. Isn't getting distracted like, my super power?"

 

"...yeah. I know."

 

There was a seriousness in his voice that straightened Peter's back out. "You're soaked. Want some soup?”

 

“No – well. Food sounds good, but not soup. How about some breakfast?”

 

“Ok.”

 

And…they had breakfast. And hot chocolate. And Steve didn’t say anything about the Spider-guy jumping around, saving cars from falling off bridges. In fact, he barely spoke a single word before he went to bed and crashed. Peter supposed he would be exhausted, too, after all the work they’d put in. It only made sense. Which meant Peter had probably at most 24 hours to figure out what he was going to do.

 

If only he could just get warm first.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I don't know much about how police-radio-talk goes, please forgive me. I tried to use what information I could dig up, but I also didn't want to go too hard on it and end up being completely ludicrous in the other direction. If anyone knows what police radio calls sound like, I apologize. 
> 
> I also spent forever looking at the various bridges of NYC. I know there are bridges like the ones I had in mind, which are the types where there's just a guard rail between your car and plummeting to the rivers or roads below, but I've only driven in the area three times so I wanted to make sure. Thankfully the bridges I'm thinking of definitely do exist there - mostly as highways, but then that is where there'd still be the most traffic in a bad snowstorm. I swear, even at 3 in the morning there's more traffic on one New York highway than there is in my entire city at that hour. 
> 
> As for my schedule - this week coming up is my last rough week, and things are looking like they'll be slow for at least a little while after this. Luckily I've got the next three chapters at least partially written so it looks like we just might make it through my crazy-busy season :D


	27. Chapter 26

Tony's return home was rescheduled again, from Saturday to Sunday, after the roads had been properly and thoroughly cleared. A lot of effort had been put into clearing every road on Saturday, all orchestrated by one Director Nick Fury. Despite the man’s cold demeanor, he was certainly going out of his way to make sure nothing bad happened to the perpetual thorn in his side.

 

“All his worst fears came true,” Clint chuckled as he sipped on his orange juice. He’d arrived Saturday night after scoping things out, but the snow looked even deeper under the morning sunlight. The temperatures were hovering around 18 degrees at best, and that was before the wind.

 

“I’m sure he’ll mention it about a hundred times,” Steve groaned.

 

“At least it’s all supposed to melt next week. Geeze, is spring really right around the corner?”

 

“Spring break is coming up, too.”

 

“…yeah. Got any plans for that?”

 

“I…no, no actual plans. I’ve been trying to do some research…It’s been…not helpful.”

 

“Would you like some help?”

 

“…yes.” The world had changed completely from when Steve was a kid. Vacations hadn’t been a thing in his neighborhood…or his school. Apparently several of Peter’s classmates were going on trips to visit family, which he and Peter didn’t have, or to some sort of public tourist spot like ‘Disneyland’ or the beach. That was also off limits. While Steve had perfected the art of ‘looking like your average body builder’ when he wandered out in public, there was no way that no one would figure out who he was if he went to a place where people constantly had cameras out. Even if it didn’t happen right away, someone would notice eventually, and he couldn’t do that to Peter.

 

Well, unless Peter wanted to. But, last he checked, Peter was still very much ok with keeping his head down. He seemed even more afraid now, but at least Steve had a few guesses as to why. ‘The Spider’ was still all over the news, with new videos still pouring in. He’d become a meme sometime late the night before, too. While technically that relatively small person who had very clear equipment that he was using could have been anyone, it was too perfect to be a coincidence. Especially how all the other videos and pictures were always taken during the after school hours.

 

Plus, if that was Peter, then now at least they had a better gauge as to what he could do. And what he was doing. Steve had to admit, he’d never considered even trying to take his act to the sky. But Peter was a very inventive kid whose bedroom was plastered in Iron Man posters. Given that knowledge, he was grateful that his teen hadn’t built himself some kind of jetpack or rocket boots. He wouldn’t have even had to invent anything, he could have just borrowed Tony’s schematics.

 

Of course, that would’ve been obvious, which was probably why that hadn’t happened.

 

“I’m going to go let him know breakfast is ready.” Steve had made waffles for breakfast specifically using Peter’s mom’s recipes for both the waffles and the syrups. He even included the walnuts even though he personally had found he much preferred blueberries mixed in.

 

According to Jarvis, the teen had made an appearance around midnight to gather up food, but he’d otherwise been in his room since Steve had gotten home. He’d tried to check on Peter, but he’d been pretty forcefully turned away. Peter hadn’t even hid his strength as he pushed the door closed. Steve could probably have overpowered him, but he hadn’t wanted to.

 

The sound of video games being played had been almost nonstop.

 

Tony had told him about the conversation they’d had in the kitchen about the teen’s ways of coping with stress, and suddenly becoming national news when you hadn’t even told your own family about your abilities was certainly stressful. Assuming The Spider was Peter. But Steve had very few doubts at this point. So, he left the kid to his own devices to deal with his stress.

 

At least the room was quiet now. “Uhm, Pete? You sleeping?” he said carefully. “Or hibernating?” Steve certainly wouldn’t mind having a chance to sleep for twelve hours. He probably wouldn’t even if he had the time, but he’d appreciate the chance.

 

There was a bit of mumbling before Jarvis spoke up. “Mr. Parker said he is sleeping.”

 

“Ah. Can you let him know breakfast is ready?”

 

“Yes Sir.” The AI’s voice was clear as day through the door as he repeated Steve's words inside the bedroom, then he returned to Steve’s side a moment later. “He said he isn’t hungry at the moment, but will come down later.”

 

“Ok. I’ll make sure some is set aside.”

 

“…he says thank you.”

 

Perhaps it was for the best that Peter stayed in his room. Maria Hill turned up with five SHIELD agents while he was putting away the food.

 

They wanted everything to be ready, and perfect, and, well, they probably wanted Tony taken off their hands as soon as possible. He was not easy to look after.

 

They were also polite enough not to glance at Steve’s cooking apron more than once. He'd gotten the feeling that it was another one of those 'quaint' things he'd brought with him from the past. “Is all this really necessary?” he sighed as he washed the syrup pot while she used his kitchen as a base of operations. 

 

“Maybe,” Maria replied. “I’m sure you could take on ten terrorists at once, but only if you don’t get shot first. Personally I think we should just lock him up in a high-security compound for a few weeks.”

 

“Like a prison?”

 

“Well, it technically wouldn’t be classified as a prison while he’s there.” 

 

“Tony’s not that bad when you get to know him.”

 

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” She focused on the tablet in her hands, not even looking up as she spoke. “Fury has issued agents to help Stark with his new compound upstate. Did he tell you about that?”

 

“A new one? But he just finished the tower.” Granted, it wasn't surprising that Tony was doing something big. He seemed entirely incapable of not doing big things for more than a few minutes. Since he wasn't out doing whatever it was Iron Man did these days, of course he was going to be doing other things. Just trying to build a suit of armor that could survive being thrashed around like a ragdoll couldn't possibly be enough to satiate him.

 

“It doesn’t hurt to have multiple bases of operation. Especially when there are members of the team who aren’t particularly suited for being trained in a densely populated area.”

 

“Bruce said no.”

 

“For now. But General Ross is pushing every politician whose ear he can grab about the Hulk. Stark’s lawyers and our protections can only go so far. We need to prove that he can be controlled…we need to _know_ he can be controlled. We need to know that things are going to be ok if they call him up for his own hearing. And we’re not going to be able to do get him to that point in the city…but the base would be more than just a Hulk training ground. It would be secure enough and remote enough so that if any of you need a long recovery, you’ll have a safe place for it. Or, at least, if it’s attacked, a whole city won’t be thrown into immediate chaos."

 

“That’s comforting.”

 

“Isn’t it? The point is, this place isn’t very secure, and the tower isn’t exactly a good alternative.”

 

“It wasn’t designed to be. It’s a residential building…Is there something I need to be watching out for?”

 

“...I’ll put it this way: To the best of our knowledge, there isn't anyone currently actively interested in hunting down and attempting to kill Avengers at this specific point in time. There’s the usual edgelords talking big on the internet, but they wouldn't stand a chance even if they actually tried to face any of you. But Christmas proved that there are people out there who have the skills, the equipment, and the will to target an Avenger when given the opportunity.”

 

“Or when asked to. It’s not like Tony’s house was a well-kept secret before. And he did invite them to come after him.”

 

“But they also proved that they would.”

 

“Are you worried about us?”

 

“No.”

 

Steve knew she wasn’t in a position where she could show any sort of weakness, and he also knew that caring about others was often considered to be a weakness, so he didn’t press the matter further. She didn’t need to say it out loud. Hell, he would be more concerned if people weren’t worried. They did live in a high-rise with hundreds of other families. But they were also always going to be targets of something. They were too famous. They couldn’t just stop existing just because of that. Though he did suspect that it would be easier on SHIELD if he just did what Clint had done. But he couldn’t do that to Peter. “Just how much control do you have over information?”

 

“While we can encourage the people who create and run websites not to allow certain information to be propagated, technically we can’t legally go in and force them to remove public information. And anything recorded on the streets is definitely considered public information. Like this 'Red Crusader' kid." She turned her tablet so he could see what appeared to be a Twitter tend, complete with memes and what appeared to be 'fanart,' if Steve was remembering his terminology correctly. Peter probably wasn't going to like that. "We can shush most things, but his popularity online is going to make him very visible. There's not much we can do about people knowing he exists at this point, but since he is clearly either enhanced or an alien it shouldn't be hard to classify all reports and documents that mention him. Don't suppose you know who it is, do you?"

 

"Who?" Now she looked up, and when she did, her eyes bore into him. He never had been a very good liar. Well, that wasn't necessarily true. He was good at not saying the truth out loud, when he needed to keep a secret. Not saying things was easy. He just wasn't good at looking people in the face and telling them something that wasn't true.

 

"You literally talked to a reporter about him on Friday."

 

"Oh, the 'Spider' kid? I haven't run into him yet."

 

"So you don't have any idea who he could be?"

 

"Do _you_ know who he is?"

 

"No." Steve didn't believe her. But he didn't want to voice his suspicions, either. Even if SHIELD had shown that they were quite generous towards enhanced humans in the past. None of them had tried to steal his DNA, or take Tony's suit, or anything like that. But, at the end of the day, Peter didn't trust SHIELD, or really anyone, it seemed, and Steve had already shared a secret that wasn't his to share with enough people. "Well, regardless, we can do with his files what we've done with yours. Anything that is a record can be classified. It's easiest to keep them classified when you work only with approved personnel. For example-”

 

“Dr. Keller.” He knew that she'd been recommended as an approved-by-SHIELD therapist, but he hadn't realized she might be on their payroll. He had just had so much else he needed to learn and pay attention to. Even his mind had a limit to how much he could process at one time. It made sense, though.

 

“Right. She's been fantastic for helping our agents when their kids need therapy. But then we have Stark. His insistence on using Dr. Cho and her experimental procedures was a bit difficult at first, but she at least was understanding as to why we want to protect all information related to Tony’s treatment. And she does seem to be on the cutting edge of innovation. Her team is developing technology that could print _skin_. It's good he found her before Oscorp sealed a deal for her research. Osborn would charge billions just for the chance of a glimpse of something like that.”

 

“What about Peter’s files?”

 

"Those are already as classified as we can make them. Only you, Fury, and myself have access to most of them. Obviously, only Dr. Keller can access her session information, but those files are classified as well. We classified everything as soon as we realized he was related to you. Since you were getting along with Romanov we let her tell you the news, though it seems like you have no concerns with any of your teammates knowing about him considering the first person you called was the one person who can’t keep a secret. Is there a reason you’re asking?" She was trying to act casual, but now her eyes were darting between him and the tablet from time to time. It was clear that he had her full attention now, despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise.

 

"...no."

 

"What, you don't trust us?"

 

"Peter doesn't, and I want to give him reasons  _to_ trust you." 

 

“A kid who idolizes Tony ‘you can’t have my property’ Stark doesn’t trust the government. There’s a shocker.”

 

“It has nothing to do with Tony.”

 

“Doesn’t it? Apparently his first instinct when he suspected SHIELD was at Oscorp was that they caused the explosion, rather than the more reasonable conclusion that we were looking into what had happened.”

 

“Were you?”

 

“…we’re still investigating-“

 

“You don’t even know what they were doing there, but you’re mad that Pete doesn’t trust you? Can you  _really_  blame him?”

 

Maria let out a sigh. “The agents that visited Oscorp did so on their own accord, and they’re currently on an undercover assignment in South America. As far as we’ve been able to tell, they were most likely checking into the possibility that Oscorp was illegally working on a super soldier serum of their own. We aren’t going to pull them out of this mission unless we find a reason to suspect that they’ve done something wrong.”

 

"That's not helpful."

 

"No, it's not. We’re considering sending someone undercover to Oscorp to have another look around."

 

"So you do believe Peter?"

 

"...Look. We're taking this seriously because if you're right, then this is a very serious matter. And all the records show that you've pretty much always been right before. But we haven't found anything suspicious within SHIELD. They were most likely just looking into Oscorp to see if there were any international threats we needed to address. And whatever chemical caused _that_ reaction to human bodies is definitely something that could be an international threat. We already know Osborn is far worse than Stark when it comes to sharing what he's working on with the public. At least Stark shows us. Sure, it's because he wants the adoration of the public, but at least we always have an idea of what's going on there. With Osborn, everything has an absurdly high price. I would not be surprised if his corporation created that chemical and he's burying it now to save his stock prices. I also believe that those scientists were good people who meant well, and I know it's not fair that Osborn is happy to let them all take the fall for this. We're going to do what we can. And we're going to need your trust so that we can do that."

 

So this was how Peter felt, looking helplessly into someone else's eyes, hoping they could solve his problems, feeling like they probably couldn't. "Just let me know what you find out when they get back."

 

He glanced at the clock - almost noon, now. Still no Peter. He definitely hadn't had enough to eat to last him into the afternoon. But Steve also knew how stubborn the teen could be. He put down his dishes and began preparing a simple ham and cheese sandwich. That way he could easily leave it and guarantee Peter got to eat _something_. 

 

 _We're going to be heading out soon,_ Pepper texted.

 

"I don't suppose the penthouse is satisfactory yet?"

 

"It's fine. They're just here to protect things."

 

"...wait, they're  _staying_?"

 

"Is that a problem?"

 

" _Yes._ Did Tony ok that?"

 

"Do you really think he would?"

 

"Considering he owns this place, don't you think you should have asked?"

 

"Do we really need to go over how unsafe everything is again?"

 

Steve tried not to slam down the butter knife he was holding. He'd definitely break the counter if he did, and they didn't need even more disruptions in their lives. "You didn't ask  _me_. This is Peter's home."

 

"And one-fifth of the people currently available on Earth that could stand up against  _another_ alien attack just had very intensive open-heart surgery. And the only reason we aren't locking him up in our facilities is because he _will_ hurt himself just to get away from us because he has the emotional maturity of a five-year-"

 

"Sir!" Jarvis's voice overpowered Maria's words.

 

"Steve-" Clint's came a moment later, his shout carrying through the penthouse. "I need you upstairs, _now_." 

 

Steve hadn't heard that sort of urgency from his friend since, well, the Battle of New York, so he didn't hesitate to bolt up the stairs. There were two agents in the living room, and another in the study, based on the shadows he could see. They did turn to look this time, watching as he followed the sound straight to Peter's door. "What's-"

 

"Fever. Panic. Delerium, I think-"

 

"I'm not delirious," the teen grumbled, his voice thin, but heavy. He was pressed into the dark back corner of his room, his TV looping one of those start-screen videos for whatever game he was playing. His closet door was ajar. His backpack was nestled at the foot of his bed, clearly stuffed with...something. Steve didn't want to guess. If Peter was 'The Spider,' then he could easily get down from the building safely, even out through his bedroom window. Maybe even in this icy weather.

 

Steve bit his tongue to keep from saying something crass. Of course Peter might consider running. If he thought SHIELD attacked Oscorp, and that SHIELD knew he knew they'd been at Oscorp, and was now inside his home-

 

But that wasn't even the most important thing right now. Steve could also see how pale and disheveled the boy was. Since he couldn't get sick, and Peter hadn't gotten sick since the incident (which Steve had also suspected had been more mental anyway), he had been starting to think maybe Peter couldn't get sick. But apparently that wasn't the case.

 

"Ok, ok, I know, you're worried about the SHIELD agents-"

 

"They're bad people!" Peter insisted as his fingers curled deeper into his game system's controller. It was already broken, but the teen didn't seem to have noticed. 

 

"They're not here to hurt anyone, they're here to protect you." Clint's voice was soothing. Practiced. The voice of a father helping a child through his nightmare. But this wasn't just a nightmare to Peter. To him, SHIELD could be a very real threat to his safety. 

 

"Clint," Steve said, carefully stepping into the room, trying to play the teenage version of mental chess, trying to figure out just what his cousin might be planning now. There was no way it was a good plan, especially not when he was this sick and this scared. 

 

"I'm not delirious!" the teen insisted again, scrambling to his feet to grab onto Steve's arm. Despite how clearly sick Peter was, Steve still felt the tension as he tried to pull the super soldier. He wasn't sure where Peter intended to pull him to, or even that Peter was aware of his actions. He suspected not, given the desperation in his voice. Steve braced himself so that he didn't budge. "I...I can't explain it, I don't know how but I know..." He stopped talking as his head swiveled around, looking, listening. Feeling? When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. "They're not good. They-they're looking in stuff they shouldn't be looking in. They're...they're whispering. I mean like, suspicious whispering not...I guess it's always suspicious sounding, but this time its really suspicious sounding. And they don't _feel_ right. They feel bad. Like, bad intentions bad." 

 

"Ok. I'll make them leave. But you have to go back to bed, ok? You're burning up."

 

"But-I...you...will?" 

 

"Mmhm. Come on." It was just a few steps, but Peter might have remained glued in place without Steve's guidance. And he seemed quite happy to collapse into his bed once Steve gave him the enoucragement to do so. 

 

"I'll get some water and crackers," Clint offered. 

 

The teen tried to tell Steve more about these bad agents, how he could just feel it, how he knew, how they made him feel on edge. Agent Babysitter (which Steve supposed was probably the nickname Peter had given Agent Andrews, who'd been assigned to keep an eye on him some months ago) hadn't given him that feeling, but these guys definitely did. There wasn't much Steve could do to shush him. Until he suddenly stopped talking on his own. "She's right there," Peter mumbled.

 

Steve paused a moment, but curiosity won and he peeked out the bedroom door. "Barton said the kid isn't feeling well," Maria said immediately. Steve glanced back towards Peter, just for a moment. Being able to tell who was outside his door without looking wasn't something that could be explained away by delerium. "Which means this isn't a good place for Stark to be recovering at. He could die if he got sick right now. And...I get the feeling Peter is reacting more poorly than anticipated."

 

"Maybe if you'd asked first, we could have come up with a better plan. This _is_ his home."

 

"Duly noted...you get to tell Stark. We're heading over to the tower."

 

"So, uh, you don't have crackers?" Clint said as he came back up. "I made toast so he can at least try to eat something."

 

"Thank you," Steve replied. "I need to make a phone call real quick." He went downstairs, stepping out onto the balcony, just to be safe. From there, he could have a private conversation while also watching (and counting) SHIELD agents as they rolled out. 

  
He waited until they made their way towards the front door to dial. “I _told you_ it would snow!” Tony grumbled in lieu of saying hello.

 

“Sounds like you’re feeling better.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“So…there’s, uhm, been a bit of a change of plans-“

 

“No! No. Not happening. There have been too many changes-"

 

“Pete’s sick. Maybe the flu? He looks awful.”

 

“Oh…yeah, I guess that would be a change of OW, come on seriously?” Steve sighed as Pepper scolded him in the background. “Guess I get to, what, stay at the tower? I will  _not_ stay on some SHIELD property. That is not happening. Think you can convince them it's not the biggest bullseye ever built?"

 

"I've already talked to Maria about that. It's not like your other compound is built yet, so the tower is the best bet. At least the media hasn't picked up on anything amiss. Though some of the people on 'Tumblr' are debating on if you've gone to space to hang out with Thor...uhm. They're...'shipping' you? I think that's the right word."

 

"Gross....well, not _gross_ , I suppose. But he's not my type. I'm really not into the bodybuilder look."

 

"I didn't need to know that."

 

"Right, right. Ok, you go. Your kid needs you. Make sure you _don't_ visit, at least until he's not contagious anymore."

 

"I won't, I promise."

 

"Good."

 

Clint came back downstairs, pausing at the balcony door until Steve waved him out. "I don't suppose you have any medicine, do you?"

 

"It's in the kitchen. I honestly don't know what half of it is, but Tony swears it's all useful."

 

"I sincerely hope he actually got  _medicine_ and not obscure forms of alcohol." Clint didn't go back in right away, though. Instead, he shut the balcony door. "So, uh, Peter's definitely not a normal teenager."

 

"Yeah. We're going to need to get him a new controller-"

 

"No...well, yes, but not that. Steve...he's really struggling with this. More than I think we realized."

 

"Oh, no, I noticed. I saw how he looked at you after his last little visit to Oscorp.  _You_. And he likes you. It's like he's convinced someone is about to pop out from under his bed and kill him in his sleep. He's...well, jumpier than a soldier on the front lines. Did she tell you about her plans?"

 

"I thought it was just going to be me as the designated SHIELD babysitter this time. They must have changed their plans last minute. Don't tell Fury I told you this, but I think he's actually worried. And if he's worried, you know Hill's going to worry. And you're usually so easygoing."

 

"Just because I'm patient, that doesn't mean people can just walk all over me."

 

"I don't think she'll make that mistake again." The two glanced into the penthouse, now sitting quiet and still. 

 

"It's a good thing school's already been canceled for tomorrow. I'm going to go check and see what Tony stocked you up with. You should go spend some time with Pete."

 

"Thank you, Clint. I...I really don't know what I do without your help. I have no idea how to be a parent."

 

"Sure you do. Oh, I've been thinking about vacation ideas, and I think Stark mentioned that he had a cabin way upstate, in the mountains. He, uh, tried to set me up for a weekend up there with a girl."

 

"Of course he did."

 

"It could be a great place for you and Peter to get away from all of this for a little while."

 

"Yeah...that's a good idea. Thanks."

 

When Steve made his way back up to Peter's room, he found that the room had been cleaned up a little. The destroyed controller had been placed in the trash. Given that Peter hadn't moved from his bed, Steve suspected that was Clint's doing. 

 

Peter, meanwhile, was poking at the toast on his plate. "I want to eat," he mumbled.

 

"But you don't feel up to it, do you?"

 

"No."

 

"That's alright. We'll figure something out. I'll ask Bruce for ideas." If Peter needed to eat even half as much as Steve did, then he probably couldn't afford to not eat while he was sick. But they'd find some solution. Even if they had to turn it into a drink, or an IV. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

 

"I...uhm. Well, I didn't think I was sick. No, that's not right. I...I don't know. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I was just still cold from Friday night. It was really cold out. And icy. I thought...I was just really cold." The teen glanced at his fingers. They looked normal enough to Steve.

 

The captain pulled Peter's desk chair over to his bedside. "You were out late."

 

"...I know."

 

"You didn't get into any trouble, did you? No late-night visits to Oscorp?"

 

"No...I...I never mean to end up there, I really don't. I promise."

 

"I know. Maybe after spring break, we can re-visit the curfew. Maybe make it 8, instead of 7:30. As long as you keep up this good work and don't get into any new trouble. Think you can handle that?"

 

"Maybe. I...I seem to find a lot of trouble."

 

"Yeah. Me too. But we have to do our best." He reached over, carefully fixing Peter's blanket. The bottom was entirely hanging off the bed while just one of the top corners was draped over Peter's shoulder. Even if Pete didn't want to be tucked in at the moment, he should still have the option. "And just...let me know, ok? I promise, I have your back. I'm here for you, whenever you need me. And even when you think you don't need me."

 

"Thank you."

 

Steve would have been lying if he said he wasn't a bit disappointed that Peter didn't tell him more, but he had a feeling it would come, in time. For now, he'd keep the kid safe, and happy, and healthy. "Text me if you need anything."

 

"I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan for the chapter where Peter is sick to coincide with a global health concern, but...here we are. As I've heard said dozens of times this week: Stay vigilant, but not panicked, and take care of yourself if you're feeling under the weather. And if you aren't feeling under the weather. 
> 
> For once, I am not sick (just now catching up on sleep now that mandatory overtime is over), though I am trying hard not to jinx myself after I got hit with every wave that came through my area last year. But for any of my readers who are dealing with any of the winter bugs, I hope you feel better soon.


	28. Chapter 27

“Jarvis?” Peter called out apprehensively as Steve wandered around the mountain cabin, testing out the lights. The AI didn't answer and, though he did have a sense of humor, Peter doubted he was waiting to surprise them.

 

It was hard to believe something this quaint (still large, but nothing like the usual Stark fare) belonged to Tony Stark, but the building also looked like it hadn’t been touched in nearly forty years, aside from having someone apparently clear out the dust. The furniture was straight out of the 70s, maybe even the 60s. There was orange carpet throughout the front room, and a TV that wasn’t even flat, let alone hanging up or taking over an entire wall.

 

“Why would Howard buy this place?” Steve mumbled. “…maybe I don’t want to know.”

 

“I don’t think Jarvis is set up in this house,” Peter declared as he knocked on a wall. It certainly sounded pretty non-techy. Where the penthouse definitely had wires, this house sounded a lot more like his old apartment.

 

“I get the feeling Tony has probably never actually been here,” Bruce grumbled.

 

“I'm just glad it's not falling apart,” Ms. Romanov said as she followed them in.

 

In the process of planning their vacation, Peter had decided to invite Dr. Banner. Mr. Stark couldn't go because of his recovery, but it was clear Bruce probably needed a vacation just as much as any of them. He was on edge all the time, and he hadn't even replaced his phone since he'd thrown it from the tower. Though he wasn't above using Jarvis to send messages for him, he had locked himself down from all incoming communications.

 

Whatever was going on, disappearing for a week sounded fantastic. And Spring Break just happened to be upon them in March. So the three of them decided to disappear.

 

Peter wasn't entirely sure how Ms. Romanov had ended up on the trip, though. He'd only found out she was coming along the night before. Of all the Avengers, she was the most, well, absent. Always on missions, and always so...well, the best word he could think of for her was 'enigma.' Unexplainable. She kept to herself and rarely visited, but when she was around she mostly just spent time with Mr. Barton or Pepper. If she wasn't with them, she was training at the tower.

 

And Peter was still kind of really scared of her.

 

He didn't think she was so good at acting that she wouldn't set off his spider senses if she had bad intentions, but if any of the Avengers _was_ going to beat him up, it'd probably be her. 

 

But he was trying not to be frustrated. After all, she probably could use some downtime, too. Maybe she'd even been forced to come since she was working too hard. He'd seen that happen to people in movies. Maybe it happened in the real world, too.

 

“Well, let's take a look around,” Steve said, immediately checking practical things, like the state of the electricity and water. The fridge was brand new, but everything else was old.

 

“There's a hot tub,” Bruce noted as he peered out the back windows.

 

“Looks like there's only two bathrooms,” Ms. Romanov discovered after a quick look upstairs. “Who would've thought someone with the Stark name would buy such a small cabin.” That was definitely sarcasm in her tone. It wasn't a mansion by any means, but it was definitely at least as big as the penthouse.a

 

“There isn't any internet,” Peter mumbled as he tried to coax his phone to load something. Literally _anything_. 

 

“That's part of the appeal, supposedly,” Dr. Banner told him.

 

“It  _is_  supposed to be a vacation,” Steve called out. “We do need food, though.”

 

“I'll go,” Ms. Romanov volunteered. “You've been on the news  _a lot._ You'd stick out like a sore thumb. Want to come with me, Peter?”

 

“Uhm...”  _No. But also yes._ Going grocery shopping with Black Widow sounded like the most surreal thing that could have been suggested. She was Black Widow. And she was going to do something as mundane as go grocery shopping. Even Steve didn’t really do that. Sure, some weekends they wandered around a co-op or a market, but mostly they just used Mr. Stark’s recommended grocery delivery services. For safety reasons. “Couldn't someone recognize you?”

 

“Unlikely. The easiest way to blend in is just to look and act normal.”

 

_What even is normal?_

 

“I was actually hoping we could check out the lake,” Steve said. “Get a feel for what we might do this week. Make some plans.”

"Ok, alright, well, then make me a list. I know we're going to need some marshmallows and chocolate and graham crackers, but what else?"

 

"Why would we need those?"

 

"S'mores are an American camping tradition. You've never had one?"

 

"Uhhm, no. I never actually went camping as a kid myself, and the military doesn't really leave much time for the fun parts of camping."

 

"Oh. Well, it is tradition, so I guess we have to do it."

 

Peter decided to make himself useful and haul their bags up to the cabin while they talked.

 

The sounds around him were different from the city. In some ways, it  _was_ quieter. There weren't people or their machines. But without the city sounds, the wildlife was just all that much louder. And there were definitely animals here that didn't exist in the city. They were beginning their spring as the last of the snow vanished. 

 

"It's just buzz," he whispered to hismelf. That didn't help, so he tried closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He could let the world become a buzz. The world was never silent. It was never still. There was always something moving as their little dirtball was flung through space. It was just the world being a world. That didn't change just because he left the city. Besides, it still wasn't as bad as before he got his powers, before he had the buzz to keep his mind from jolting around at every noise and shadow. Even here, this buzz could help keep him focused. He just had to let it be a buzz.

 

"Are you...meditating?" Ms. Romanov's voice cut through.

 

"No!" he declared as his body jolted from the surprise. "Well, kind of, I guess. It's...complicated." 

 

She walked up to his side, reaching for her bags. He stepped around the pile.

 

“Why are you so scared of me?” she chastised, slinging her own bags onto her shoulders.

 

“I’m not scared.”

 

“You can’t lie to me, Parker. Or anyone, really. You’re bad at it.” Her eyes glanced over the bags at his feet before she selected his homework backpack, which his laptop was also in. Not that it would do him much good up here. “So, why are you so scared of me?”

 

“…I, uh, well…I guess…because you could beat me up?”

 

“So could any of us.”

 

“Yeah but…they wouldn’t.” The laughter that followed his words almost made his heart skip a beat. “What?”

 

“You haven’t seen Bruce when he gets mad.”

 

“Pfft,” Peter found himself returning. “Oh yeah, throwing his phone off the tower, real scary.”

 

“Oh, that wasn’t an angry Bruce. Trust me, you’ll know he’s mad when you see it. It’s impossible to miss.” She gave him a light punch to the shoulder. “I know I said I’d kick your ass if you kept worrying Steve, but I didn’t mean that. Steve would never forgive me if I did that. I’ll only kick your ass if you do something really, really stupid. Or if you want me to. Ok?”

 

“Why would I want you to?”

 

“I was looking through Jarvis’s recordings from the tower gym a few months ago, trying to find some of my own when I got a wonderful look at your pathetic excuse for a punch. It could use a lot of work. Clint was too nice to you. Which is probably why Steve asked him to teach you instead of me.”

 

“Oh.”

 

She deposited her bags on the porch, coming back to scoop up some more. “Any special requests for dinner?”

 

“Uhm…hot dogs? Hamburgers? I dunno what people eat when they go camping.”

 

“We have a full kitchen. You can eat whatever you want.”

 

“Uhm…mac and cheese then? We’ve, uh, mostly been either ordering out or making a lot of food using the old family recipe book, but I don’t know the recipes.”

 

“Right. Well, I’ll figure it out. You gonna get those bags?”

 

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” There were only a few left at his feet, and, thanks to years of experience, Peter was confident he could act sufficiently distressed hauling them inside, so he scooped all of them up and staggered his way to the door. They didn’t feel like they weighed much of anything at all, but he pretended they did. She was definitely watching him, though. He didn’t hear her move until he’d settled the bags inside and come back for the ones she left on the porch.

 

“You have to stop being so paranoid,” he whispered to himself.

 

He was letting himself trust them. Not with his secrets, but as people. It was a new kind of trust, different from the admiration he’d felt before meeting them. It was the trust of knowing first hand they would fight for his wellbeing. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud ‘hey, by the way, I have super powers – it’s weird but also fun?’ He couldn't explain why to himself, but he just really didn't want to tell. He didn't know why.

 

Peter liked having something that he knew no one else could fuss over. Even if Steve was trying to act like everything was normal, a thirteen year old being able to pick up cars and walk on ceilings was not normal, no matter how often he did it. The absolute comic-book levels of absurdity of everything that had happened since September was never far from his mind. Sure, most people had to live with the knowledge that superheroes were a real thing and aliens might totally try to take over, but their day to day lives still went on around all that. 

 

"Are there any clearings fit for campfires around here?" Steve was asking Bruce. 

 

"Uhmmm, Tony's map shows one just right...this way." The doctor pointed out the porch door and down towards the lake. "See, over here."

 

"Ok, so we can start by preparing a fire. Then...maybe we can explore the boathouse, see what's down there?"

 

"And I'll be going down to the lake to meditate."

 

"Sounds like a plan."

 

"Just four more days to plan after that," Peter sighed. "And still no internet."

 

"That's the idea.'

 

"So old fashioned."

 

"Well, I like being a bit old fashioned."

 

Steve was trying, and his heart was definitely in the right place, but Peter was feeling more anxious at the thought of not being able to keep tabs on things than the idea of being released from the world for a little while. It was still going to be there when they got back, after all. What if something bad happened? Bad for him, specifically. If something bad for the world happened then they'd find that out right away. Superheroes were always on call, after all. Except for secret superheroes. Secret superheroes got to stew in their own anxiety over what was happening on their streets because no one would think to (or be able to) reach out to them to let them know what was going on.

 

At least the Perp was doing better. He hadn't committed any crimes since their last encounter, and Peter had spotted him more than a few times around town. He'd even gotten a sign for his van. Peter's first big bad guy was doing alright now. That was good. 

 

Outside, the ground was still pretty mushy, but Mr. Stark's dad seemed to have thought that through, too. There were pathways down to the lake and over to the clearing. Which, sure, had a place for a fire. But it wasn't exactly what they'd expected.

 

"Of course he'd have a stage."

 

"What is it for?"

 

"I don't want to know." From the clearing, they could see another path that led towards what probably used to be a guesthouse. It was gone now. Towards the lake, there was clearly a disused boathouse that had been somewhat maintained, but nowhere near as well as the cabin itself. "Whatever Howard used this place for, it's a campsite now. We will just have to make the best of what we have."

 

"So...how  _do_ we make a campfire?"

 

"We will need to set up a base, since the ground is damp, and I think I saw some firewood stored up by the cabin. We'll have to see if there's anything in it we can use. If not, we may need to get a bit more creative. I'm sure there's some old dried out trees somewhere in these woods."

 

"I know how to make s'mores in a microwave. Y'know, if we can't make a fire."

 

"We can do it. I'll show you how."

 

Showing turned out to be a lot more complicated than Peter had expected. He knew how fires started - after all, he  _had_ been in one - but he hadn't known just how complicated the process could be. Especially without an axe. Not that they really needed an axe, but it was more precise and significantly less splintery than just ripping wood apart. 

 

The small woodshed had been mostly empty, and what had been in it was pretty rotten, so Steve had led them on a bit of a scavenger hunt to find wood that was fit to burn. That was when they'd realized there weren't any axes around the cabin. A quick glance around the boathouse hadn't revealed any there, either. That didn't surprise Steve, though. He seemed to have expected Mr. Stark's father to just buy his wood and have it hauled in. Steve suspected that it was unlikely that the cabin had ever housed anyone who could safely use an axe.

 

Still, despite the setbacks, by the time Ms. Romanov returned with food, they were at least hauling wood up to their campsite. The mud was stretching up their jeans and the SHIELD boots were covered in the stuff, but Peter's toes were dry and warm. He was grateful that none of this required him to try to stick to anything because he was pretty sure it was too muddy for that even if he was wearing his usual shoes. 

 

As Steve was showing Peter how to light the fire without a lighter, Ms. Romanov hauled out all the ingredients needed for hot dogs and s'mores. "I saw one of those weird museums on the drive. It looked like it was dedicated to supernatural creatures people have believed they've encountered up in these mountains. They're open from 10AM until 7PM, every day. Could be fun to check out. I've heard all about weird American museums, but I've never actually seen one."

 

"Aren't they mostly out in the West?" Peter asked. "Like, the world's biggest ball of yarn, old mining museums, alien museums. Stuff like that? Though I guess I have seen some really odd museums around Manhattan. They've got these 'pop up' shops these days, and sometimes some antique collectors will rent the place and set up a little antique museum. They really just want to share what they know with people in person, y'know instead of online, and they can be really weird. Ned and I did a paper on one for history class. I mean, not on the person but on their stuff."

 

"This country really has gotten  _weird_ ," Steve sighed.

 

"Checking out weird local museums is a road trip tradition."

 

"Is it now?"

 

"I've seen it happen in movies."

 

"Alright, might as well check it out. Who knows, maybe some of those rumors were actually real aliens that actually exist, since that's a thing now."

 

"Or it could just be a lot of blurry pictures of bigfoot. Did anyone tell Bruce it was time for dinner?" Peter didn't notice what he'd said, but the pause afterward brought his blunder to the front of his mind. When had he gotten so comfortable? "I-I-I mean-"

 

"Bruce considers you a friend," Steve assured him with a pat on the shoulder. "He wouldn't mind."

 

When Peter jogged down to the lake, he spotted Bruce laying down on the docks, looking up at the sky. He tried to make as much noise as possible so as not to startle the man. "Hey! Want some dinner?"

 

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Now seems like a good time for that." Peter offered his hand to help the man up, and Bruce readily accepted it. He seemed at peace again. But still a bit nervous. But he was always nervous. Peter could certainly relate.

 

"Uhm...can I ask you something?"

 

"Depends on the question."

 

"Why do you meditate all the time? Like...does it help? With...whatever."

 

"It does. It helps me find peace, wherever I am."

 

"How do you do that? I mean, the...meditate to the point of finding peace."

 

"Lots of practice, patience, focus...and structured breathing. We can try it together later, if you want."

 

"...Maybe. Maybe not here, though. Maybe back home. Home is a lot more peaceful."

 

The doctor chuckled. "It is nice to be close to anything you need, but out here no one can bother you."

 

"And there's no internet and the cell service seems pretty spotty. I guess that's a pretty good deal when you don't want to talk to someone."

 

"You're too smart sometimes."

 

"Sorry."

 

There was a bite to the air, but it was nothing like winter. Still, Steve seemed to be prepared, having gone back to the cabin for a jacket for himself. He'd grabbed an extra for Peter. "I know you get cold easily," he said. Peter hadn't expected him to notice, but apparently the man was on top of everything. 

 

It was everyone's first time officially making s'mores, and Steve almost immediately set his marshmallow on fire. "Some people like them burnt," Bruce told him as he meticulously held his just out of range of the flames, turning it a light golden brown. 

 

"I think I'll pass on that."

 

No one spied any bigfoots in the woods, despite the good old legends of all kinds of spottings in the area. Really, anywhere that had a large number of trees had a seemingly equal number of bigfoot spottings. Bruce told a scary story, though it wasn't really scary. Peter wasn't particularly creative, but he did recount his favorite Goosebumps book. For Steve, since he hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing the glory that was mild childhood horror stories. 

 

On Tuesday, they did go to the paranormal museum, with Bruce pretending to be Peter's uncle, just in case someone recognized Steve in his baggy plaid shirt and working man's jeans. An older lady told him he was as handsome as Captain America, but they weren't sure if she had realized the truth of not.

 

The museum itself was mostly as expected, though there was a piece of beat-up golden metal that they claimed was an alien helmet that had flown halfway across the state when Hulk punched it. That was most assuredly fake, but it did make for a good story for bored tourists. 

 

On Wednesday, Steve taught Peter some rope-tying tricks, and some defensive fighting tricks. "A good defense is the best offense," he cited.

 

"Literally," Peter had joked back.

 

The woods weren't so bad. Though they would have been greatly improved by internet access. Peter hated the downtime. It gave him too much time to think. He already had too much of that. That was why he was ten notebooks deep in ideas and faulty-but-improving-with-dedication science and engineering theories. Here he couldn't work towards his answers because he had little to work with, so his ideas just kept piling up. He filled his hoodie pocket notebook, and his jacket pocket notebook, and his backpack notebook. He packed them with doodles and hopes and desires and questions.

 

_How strong am I? Why did a science-magic spider bite make me super strong? Am I as strong as a spider would be if a spider were my size?_

 

The last question seemed like the best answer. But he'd have to figure out how strong spiders were. He probably wouldn't ever know what his particular spider had been, but he could find an average. Then he could multiply it out and determine how strong he might be now. Maybe even how strong he could be in the future. He had grown five whole inches since September. Some of his classmates were complaining about their midnight leg cramps, but at worst his had been minor twitches.  _Thank you Spider-healing_ , he'd written on his musings about that.

 

By Thursday, though, he was starting to run out of thoughts. Not that he could ever run out of thoughts. There just wasn't much more he could add without additional research. Which he couldn't really do. He was on the cusp of planning out a whole experiment to go watch the spiders under the deck and see if he could test them when Bruce invited him out fishing.

 

"You need to unwind," the doctor prescribed. "That's the point of coming out here. To not worry about all that stuff back home. That includes the science stuff."

 

"You aren't worried about any of your science stuff?"

 

"It will still be there when I get back. Maybe I'll even have an entirely new perspective. That's what's so nice about being out here. It's a completely different world from the city. You can really just...exist for a minute."

 

"Uhm...I thought that's what I was doing."

 

"You're a lot like Tony. He never sits still either. He just wants to do things all the time. It stresses  _me_ out looking at him sometimes. I think the surgery was probably the best sleep he's gotten in years. Maybe even his entire lifetime." Bruce set up two folding chairs, leaving Peter with the poles and the tackle box and the bait. "He misses things when he doesn't slow down, and when he finally catches what he missed he has to backtrack and catch up. Pepper said she's pretty sure that's how he missed her crush on him for so long, until his, ah, well, kidnapping made him slow down and re-assess things. Promise me you won't need to be kidnapped to take a breath."

 

"Uhm...I promise?" Peter would almost like to see someone try to kidnap him. He really wouldn't, because he was afraid his instincts might make him break someone's nose or something, but he also wished whoever had been following him around in the city would just show themselves so he could get it over with.

 

He didn't get that particular feeling out here in the woods, though. That was another credit he could give them.

 

"Sometimes, you need to face your thoughts head-on to come to terms with them and get them under control."

 

"Is this a meditation lesson?"

 

"It's a lesson in being ok with doing nothing sometimes. Have you ever gone fishing before?”

 

“N-no. I’ve never been outside of New York before. Ben heard about how there’s some designated fishing spots, but we just never really felt the urge to do stuff like that. There were always other things to do. Science stuff, you know. Have you?”  
  


“Every now and then. It’s an easy way to sustain yourself if you’re out, uh, camping.” The doctor took a pole from Peter, and showed him how to prepare it.

 

“Do you go camping a lot?”

 

“I have. On occasion. Uhm, I’ve traveled a lot in the spaces in between cities. Sometimes you just want to be alone, but if you want to be alone you need to know how to take care of yourself out there.”

 

“I just go sit on rooftops. Listen to the traffic in the distance. My neighborhood was quiet at night, but there's always a car alarm going off somewhere.”

 

The doctor chuckled. “I’ve done that on occasion, too. But it's not really quiet. Sometimes it’s nice to be able to put all that city stress out of your mind.”

 

“I guess…It’s kind of creepy though.”

 

“Well, you are a city kid. I’m from Ohio. There’s a couple of cities there, but none of them are like New York. I grew up in a cornfield town with a population of about 10,000. Here, think you can cast the line?"

 

"Uhm. You just kinda swing, right?"

 

"Sure. If you want to get a hook stuck somewhere. You have to be careful."

 

"Well, yeah." He watched Bruce reel his arms back. It seemed so inefficient, compared to his webshooters. Maybe if he ever wanted money he could sell a version of his older design as a new and improved fishing...wrist thing. 

 

A tingle ran up Peter's spine when Bruce's arms swung forward. 

 

"That's-" he whispered as his arms started tingling, too. A crack sounded in the air. " _Look out!_ " he yelled, diving at the doctor. He could heal just fine. Probably. Bruce, at best, wouldn't be half as lucky. Even just a graze could leave life long nerve damage. He'd read about that after, well, he'd gotten grazed. 'Just a flesh wound' was really only something that happened in movies. And to superhumans. But probably not to fun, zen science professors.

 

He didn't feel a bullet, though. 

 

Instead, he heard a grunt, a growl, and felt something - someone? - grab him by the back of his jacket. Moments later, he was, well, definitely not on the ground anymore. "BRUCE!" he yelled out as his fingers instinctively curled into his palms, but his webshooters weren't on his wrists. 

 

  _Was that a roar-_ crossed his mind just as his body slammed into the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the erratic schedule. It looks like things aren't going to be smooth with work as management predicted. Which I guessed might happen, given how January was slower than usual despite the company taking on a lot more members than in past years. As those of us who actually do the work guessed, the customers were just slow to get started this year and now they're bombarding us. But of course, some upper management person wants to look good on their financial reports, so they are being stingy with just allowing overtime so we can handle the volume and we're finding out last minute when it will be required. (And of course, it's always urgent because that's what happens when someone high up wants to artificially inflate their numbers to try to get a promotion.) I'm going to try to stick to once a week updates, but I don't have a predictable work schedule right now. I'm sorry about that.
> 
> This week's chapter is brought to you by the word 'Yeet,' which I had to Google the history of to see if Peter might use that word in early 2014. Apparently it did first start rising in popularity in 2014, but not as its currently used. According to various pop culture sites (and sites that seem directed at helping out of touch marketing companies understand what the kids these days are saying), it first popped up in 2008 as an expression of excitement but that didn't catch on at that time, then around February 2014 a 'stylized dance' was uploaded to YouTube (their words). There were actually several articles I found dated 2014 and 2015 talking about Yeet as a dance craze. Anyway, after the whole dance craze thing, it evolved into yeeting as we know it today (excitement and throwing things). Alas, that came too late for me to reasonably say ‘and yea verily then did Hulk yeet ye young Peter into the lake.’ 
> 
> For this chapter, I also researched: Adirondack cabins, 1960s mountain cabins, the history of s’mores, and how the wealthy acquire groceries. All of those topics were interesting rabbit holes, but now YouTube’s algorithm is convinced all I want in my life is to watch hours upon hours of people poking around long-abandoned buildings.


	29. Chapter 28

Peter could feel the bubble of his breath as it was forced from his lungs when the far-too-cold water engulfed him. Even though he’d tried to brace himself, even though he’d prepared his head for the cold, he still couldn’t fight his body’s immediate, primal reaction. And he didn’t fully want to, either, as his spider-primal instincts kicked in immediately after, forcing his limbs to propel his body towards the surface.

 

_ Thank you spider thank you spider thank you spider- _ he repeated to himself as his body was propelled into the fresh mountain air.

 

His muscles were already trembling beneath his skin, so he didn't dare linger there. There was a roaring coming from beyond the tree line, and he could already see that the boathouse had had it's dock-side wall bashed in. Peter could see the collapsed roof, even from all the way out in the middle of the lake. But facing off something strong enough to bash a house was significantly less scary than an icy lake. He was strong. He could punch back. But strength was useless in the face of hypothermia.

 

As he approached the dock, he realized it also was not in the state he'd left it in, having been smashed right in the middle. Luckily, it had a good enough structure that it was still strong enough for him to pull himself back up onto it. All he needed was to get out of the water. Everything else could be figured out later.

 

“What the hell just happened,” he whispered, scanning the woods.

 

There were no signs of Bruce anywhere.

 

Or Steve or Ms. Romanov for that matter. Which probably meant they hadn’t made it back from town yet. They had gone for a small supply run, but also so they could check in with SHIELD and make sure everything was still ok in the world, and ensure there were no new terrorists blowing up Stark homes and no Starks were causing havoc or anything like that.

 

Peter could see giant footprints in the ground, each one probably about as big as his legs were long. “That Bigfoot museum would eat this up.”

 

He pulled his hood up and crawled his way along the dock, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. “Ok, ok. There is a shooter, and...wait. Did Bruce throw me in the lake? That...doesn't seem right. The distance I was thrown would've needed at least a Captain America throw, maybe even an Iron Man picking me up and flying me over there...Maybe Bruce is secretly super strong? But then why wouldn't he fight? – well, no he doesn't seem to like fighting, so it doesn't matter how strong he is if he doesn't want to fight. But there are ways to fight without hurting people. That's what I try to do-”

 

Another growling roar echoed up over the trees, reminding Peter that perhaps shutting up might be a good idea when he didn't know what he was up against. “Does the monster have the gun? Why would it need a gun?” he continued muttering, just a fair bit quieter than before.

 

Everything was quieter than before...except for the roaring monster hanging out in the woods.

 

Peter was well aware that he was not equipped for this situation. Being out in the wild like this. Being _soaked_. His muscles were trembling, and it wasn't his spider-sense this time. Waterproofing was definitely going to be on his list of things to figure out. Maybe he'd just get that waterproof spray people put on their shoes and put it on, well, everything. Would that make it unwashable though?

 

Those were questions for other days. He gave his cheek a probably too-gentle slap to remind his brain to focus. There were a million things he wanted to think about, but only one was important: Making sure Bruce Banner was safe.

 

His first instinct was to check the boathouse, but, well..."Wow." The boathouse wasn't merely collapsing. There were two very obvious spots where it had been hit by something. Something of a wrecking ball type nature, from the looks of the damage. “Dr. Banner? Bruuuuce? You in there?”

 

A beam fell over, as if in response to his words.

 

Another roar ripped out, and he could almost swear he heard a car driving off in the distance. It was distinctive amidst all the nature sounds. And it was definitely going  _away_ from them. While Peter was sure Captain America had things he was afraid of, he had plenty of first-hand reasons to doubt Steve would run away if he knew Peter might be in danger. Which meant that whoever was in the car was probably either someone who had been hanging out here illegally, considering this was Stark land and they were the only ones with permission to be here, or the person who had shot at them.

 

Maybe they had Bruce.

 

This was very far beyond what he could handle. He didn't even have all his gear here!

 

He yanked his phone out of his pocket, giving it a shake to get the water off. “Please work please work please-oh you're turning back on. Oh Mr. Stark you're a genius. Thank you thank you thank you...Mr. Stark is going to kill me for frying his phone.” But it was turning on, and as he fiddled with it, the device  _did_ call out, even if the sound wasn't fantastic. “Hello?” he called too-loudly into his phone. “Steve?!”

 

“Pe-er?” crackled its way through.

 

Peter took in a deep breath. “Hi! Oh I'm so glad my phone isn't drowned thank you Mr. Stark so uhm remember when I said I'd tell you if I needed help...well I think Bigfoot kidnapped Bruce maybe, and someone has a gun? And then Bruce threw me in the lake or maybe Bigfoot threw me in the lake and maybe kidnapped Bruce or maybe the shooter kidnapped him I'm not sure but I can't find Bruce and Bigfoot is destroying things and my phone is really wet please tell me you can hear me.”

 

"Wh-" was all that came through before the line dropped. When Peter tried to re-connect, the phone wouldn't even start ringing. There wasn't a solid signal. Even Mr. Stark's usually completely unhindered coverage wasn't covering these distant parts of non-civilization, it seemed.

 

"Great. Well. Guess I just gotta hope he got that. Ok. Ok. Think this through, Parker. You are stupid strong. You can sense danger. And you are good at being sneaky...well, you're not  _bad_  at being sneaky. Just...take a peek at Bigfoot. Maybe he was just mad someone was shooting at people in his forest, like a Smoky the Bear for gun safety. Maybe Bruce ran. Maybe he's back up at the cabin. Yeah. Check the cabin. If he isn't there, then check on Bigfoot."

 

Bruce wasn't at the cabin.

 

Despite that, Peter still paused to change into dry clothes. 55 degrees was a nice change from winter’s negatives, but not nice enough to warrant soaked pants. Especially not when his body seemed to loathe the cold now. He also yanked out his webs shooters, popping them securely onto his wrists.

 

His instincts were begging him to stay indoors, to wait until Steve got here…or at least until his muscles stopped trembling before going outside again. But he couldn't wait. Bruce might need him.

 

“Bruuuuce,” Peter whispered as he crawled his way through the woods. “ _Dr. Banner_?”

 

He had no idea how to track things without the assistance of technology. He barely had the ability to track things  _with_  technology. His little spider trackers that he’d been working on were, well, less than ideal. It was hard to get them to stick reliably but still be unnoticeable. And range was ridiculously difficult to get. If he had better materials, it’d go better, but he was still dumpster diving for parts to try to avoid suspicion.

 

And he also didn’t have those up here, anyway.

 

Peter decided he most definitely didn’t like being this far from society, isolated from technology and the internet and people and the nooks and crannies of the streets. He didn’t know these trees. How far they went, where there might be sudden drop offs, where one might stash a scientist were they to try to hide one away. Any of it. New York also didn’t have Bigfoots, and it most certainly had hubbub of cameras everywhere, and reporters, both amateur and professional, constantly at the ready. He’d probably have found Bruce already if he was in the city. Maybe. It was certainly a stronger possibility than he had out here.

 

“WHERE. AAAREE. YOOUUU!” bellowed out as he heard another uprooted tree smash through its brethren.

 

“Not here,” Peter whispered as he circled ever closer to the very dangerous big guy. It was his only lead. He had to. “Who are you looking for, Mr. Big…green…foot…” That was green he was seeing through the trees, as the roaring giant stomped around. He was pretty sure of it. Mud didn’t come in shades of green, fur typically wasn’t naturally green. It could have been algae, but it didn’t quite look like it. Despite common sense begging him to just walk away, maybe run to town since he could certainly make it, he went towards the green.

 

After all, there was only one giant green machine Peter had ever heard tell of. And he hadn’t been seen in over a year, and Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t an alien, based on what he’d gathered from whispers he wasn’t supposed to hear. He was really starting to lean into his theory that the green machine was actually a gorilla that had been experimented on in much the same way Peter had become a bit of an experiment himself. Only, this experimentation had probably done on purpose, as opposed to Peter's completely accidental inclusion in The Spider Project.

 

But Peter also hoped that Bruce wasn’t some heartless mad scientist behind that gentle, peacekeeping demeanor. He wasn’t sure how he could cope with that. Especially if everyone else was just totally ok with it. And he already had enough ‘but what if bad’ thoughts about SHIELD to deal with. So he really really  _really_  hoped there was a lot more to this than he understood. Especially since it was kind of weird for a mutated talking green gorilla to randomly be hanging out in the Adirondacks.

 

And maybe, just maybe, now he would have a chance to learn the proper truth about something. That was exciting in and of itself.

 

As Peter crawled up over the ridge, he found himself approaching the green Bigfoot just in time to see a giant clod of dirt go flying. “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWR?!” the Hulk – and it was definitely absolutely 100% undoubtedly a giant green hulking machine Peter was witnessing, so he had no doubts that this was the one and only actual Hulk himself – screamed again.

 

This was also, if Peter was oriented right, and he was pretty sure he was, the direction the gunshot had come from. And Hulk certainly didn’t have a gun on him.

 

Another tree went flying – this time towards Mr. Stark’s cabin. Peter instinctively shot out his webs, yanking the tree off in another direction. After all, it was  _Mr. Stark’s_  cabin! “…Shit,” he uttered as the growl turned in his direction. “Shiiiit shit shit shit-“

 

“SMAAAAASH-”

 

“Don’t smash me!” Peter squealed, leaping up into the upper branches of a tree that hadn’t yet been destroyed. It didn’t take long for it to start shaking as a very very  _very_  angry Hulk started working on ripping it up. “WOAH hey I don’t know who you’re looking for but it probably isn’t me ‘cause you threw me in a lake, I think – I mean, I'm pretty sure, and why would you throw me in a lake if you were looking for me?”

 

“RAAAAAAAAAAWWWWR!” The tree gave way, and Hulk began to try and beat it against the ground, which was no small feat considering there were several other trees still in his way. Peter leapt to another tree to attempt to buy time. He had no idea what he was doing.

 

That tree soon fell, too. Peter tried to scramble away as it was thrown at him. When he looked back, his eyes scanning the giant green Avenger, trying to quickly assess his options. He could web the big guy’s ankles together and then make a run for it. That might be an option.

 

But he also wasn’t sure how strong Hulk actually was. Hadn’t he punched one of those giant flying aliens in the face and lived to tell about it?

 

As Peter tried running around Hulk – if he couldn’t out-strength the guy, maybe he stood a chance at out-maneuvering him – he also noticed that he was wearing some really nice pants, for a giant, smashing maybe-gorilla. Though maybe not, considering he was talking, and even if his words were simple, gorillas didn’t typically use words…then again, Planet of the Apes was a thing, and if superheroes could be real then so could Planet of the Apes.

 

In the Hulk’s back pocket, there was an itty-bitty wallet-like square. Well, itty-bitty compared to the size of Hulk’s leg. Though if Hulk needed to go buy a taco, they probably didn’t make Hulk-sized wallets for him to keep his human-sized money in. “That…is really weird…”

 

Now that was a sight Peter wanted to see - Hulk buying a taco. He was probably the type to get extra meat. Times three.

 

Though there was also something weirdly familiar about the pants. Besides the rips and still-wet mud stains. They looked like the pants that Bruce wore all the time. “No,” Peter told himself. “That's silly.”

 

 _Is it?_ his mind echoed. _You're Captain America's cousin. Captain America_ exists. _And you are a spider person. Is a mild-mannered scientist turning into a giant green monster so weird?_

 

“But Bruce knows a lot more words than rawr and garrrr.”

 

The tree came for him again, but again Peter dodged. This time he decided to put some distance between himself and the very clearly super upset green giant. The Hulk was fairly fast, though, and easily kept pace.  _I’m running from the Hulk!_ he mused.  _This is so cool! And terrifying. And cool! Oooh if Ned could see me now._

 

“SMASH!” echoed up over the trees behind him as the Hulk brought down both of his fists. Peter was quick to shoot his webs, doubling up both of them for good measure before giving the big guy a yank. He stumbled, just for a second, letting out a grunt of surprise, but quickly regained himself and yanked back. “Puny bug,” he grumbled as Peter was pulled towards him. The teen was careful to use all of the muscles he’d developed from swinging around the city to flip himself up and over the Hulk’s arm, avoiding a fist as it came swinging back around. He used his sticky hands to grab onto the big guy’s back and hold on for dear life.

 

“You’re awesome! I’ve never seen anyone smash like you smash! You saved New York! Can I get your autograph?” Like a bull at a rodeo, Hulk threw himself forward, then threw himself back, snarling as his arms flailed up to try to pull Peter off. “WOAH, hey please we can be friends! I don’t want to fight with-OOOF owww-” 

 

It turned out that Hulk wasn't quite as dumb as his vocabulary implied. When bucking around didn't do him any good, he was not above slamming his back against a tree. Peter let go, scrambling away as his sides chided him for not listening to his senses. Though, to be fair to himself, his senses were telling him that just being around Hulk wasn't a bright idea, so he didn't really ignore them just for that specific moment as much as he'd been ignoring them since he'd left the cabin.

 

“Hold on wait wait wait - don’t smash me! We can smash other things together!” Peter yelped as he jumped out of the way. His boots sunk into the mud, sliding out from under him and sending him splattering into the soaked earth beneath him. “Like those rocks!” he squeaked, pointing towards a pile that had clearly formed from a rockslide against the sheer rock face nearby. “I’ll throw you smash!”

 

“Bug-boy throw boulder-“ Suddenly, the giant started letting out a grunting sound. It came from deep in his chest, growing as the corners of his mouth curled back. And upwards, just a bit.

 

Was that a smile?

 

_Is he laughing?!_

 

“I can prove it! Watch!” Peter used his webbing to pull himself out of the mud, too frustrated to bother trying to get up. He loved these boots, he really, really did. But his own sticking abilities just worked better than their traction. He’d be better off barefoot out here dealing with the slimey post-snow soaked world he was stuck in. He launched himself over to the cliff, and he was almost certain that Hulk was very, very amused. “You ready?”

 

“THROW!” the Hulk demanded.

 

“Ok! Here we go!” Peter picked one that was just a little bit bigger than Hulk’s fist for his first throw. He hadn’t actually tried something like this yet, so he wanted to make sure it worked. When he hefted it up over his head, he felt quite impressed with himself. Hulk wasn’t impressed, but then Hulk could also rip trees out of the ground, roots and all. He leaned back a little, putting everything he’d learned from movies about dads coaching their boys on throwing balls into his throw.

 

It…went. More up than out, but it didn’t just immediately plop back to the ground.

 

Hulk jumped up and put his fist through the rock. “Puny rock.”  _Tough crowd,_  Peter’s thoughts groaned. But he was glad that Hulk wasn’t interested in putting that fist through his face now. “Watch.” Hulk grabbed onto a boulder that was probably bigger than Steve, easily lifting it up over his head and throwing it into the distance. Then he went after it and smashed it to bits.

 

“HULK SMASH!” Peter cheered, chasing after. “So, uh, what are you doing here? Upstate, I mean. People have been wanting to see you again.”

 

“Gunshot.” His nose wrinkled up and his eyes trailed across the horizon again. A growl started to emanate from his throat. “Shoot at bug-boy.” His eyes began scanning the trees again.

 

“Ok, ok, we won’t talk about that, either.” Although, it was interesting that he just happened to be here. He was so loud that Peter was sure he would not have missed those stomping sounds (or smashing sounds, or growling breathing – Hulk’s breath had a deep rumble to every inhale, he’d noticed). “Did…did you throw me in the lake?”

 

“Throw again!” Hulk threatened.

 

“NO! I mean thank you! You, uh, saved me! From the shooter. Thank you. For saving me.”

 

The green giant looked…confused, if Peter had to put one emotion on it. Like he’d never heard those words before. And, of course, it seemed that Hulk didn’t like being confused. He turned around and grabbed another tree, throwing it to the lake. He made it, too. Peter realized he should be grateful he hadn’t been thrown clear across the body of water. Hulk had shown  _restraint_  with him.

 

“Uhm, I don’t suppose you know where Bruce is, do you? I’m kinda worried about him, I don’t want him to get hurt, and I think you’re wearing his pants because I’m pretty sure that’s his belt and his wallet in your back pocket. I mean…are you Bruce? We were supposed to go fishing-“

 

“RAAAAAARRRRRRR NO PUNY BANNER!”

 

“Oh-oops.”

 

Just like that, the Hulk lost any chill he’d had and was off on another rampage.

 

Suddenly, a speeding flannel shirt bolted past him. It took his brain a moment to catch up as he realized that Captain America, who had super strong muscles, was probably also a very fast runner when he wanted to be. “Don’t hurt him!” Peter yelled. He wasn’t sure who he was yelling that at.

 

Peter immediately tried to give chase, but it was no good. Now that Hulk was actually _moving_ , he was moving faster than Peter had ever managed to move himself. Which made sense, considering how long his legs were on top of his strength.

 

Peter also realized that Steve wasn't trying to keep up. As he followed the trail of destruction, he saw that it zigged and zagged and turned, forever staying within the bounds of Mr. Stark's land. That also made sense. Mr. Stark was probably the only person who wouldn't sue the Hulk for property damages, and Peter didn't need to ask anyone to know that absolutely no one wanted to be there when the Hulk was served a lawsuit.

 

There also seemed to be another purpose to the pattern – when Peter jumped up into a tree to assess where they were going, he realized that Steve was also trying to encourage the Hulk to go towards the lake. It was a large barrier. That made sense.

 

So the teen decided to head them off at the pass. “I'll just be there in case Steve needs back up,” he promised to the trees.

 

He wasn't expecting to find someone down by the docks.

 

“M-Ms. Rom-duck!” He didn't have time to be surprised that she was waiting there. As he approached, a giant clod of dirt also came their way. Definitely from Hulk, probably because Steve was trying to bait the big guy.

 

Peter grabbed her and pulled her down to the ground, just in time for it to fly over their heads, slamming into the shore and spraying mud up across their backs.

 

“PETER?” she yelled back at him before the mud had even fully settled. “What are you – are you ok?” Her hands grabbed him by his shoulders, forcing him to bite back an 'ow.'

 

“He didn’t hit me,” he assured her. “He, uh, I think he was trying to protect me?”

 

“From what?” she asked, though her words held the urgency of a military command.

 

“Oh, someone shot at us. Say, is Bruce the Hulk?”

 

“Someone  _shot_  at you?”

 

“Yeah, but they didn’t hit us. I, uh…uhm, well, he threw me into the lake. Then he smashed the boat house and I think he went to find the guy who was shooting but he didn’t…Is that Bruce?”

 

“Did you happen to see which direction the shooter was in?”

 

“They left already. I think. I heard a car driving away.”

 

“Strange, we didn’t see one.”

 

“It was, uh, farish from here. But not like super far just...like...not the drive to our cabin.”

 

“You heard something that far away?”

 

“Hulk is definitely wearing Bruce’s pants, and he was suddenly just right beside me when, er, before I was thrown in the lake. But he doesn’t seem to like Bruce very much.”

 

“I believe that. They are sort of opposites.”

 

“But they’re the same person.”

 

“You need to get back to the cabin-” Another tree flew back past them, followed closely by a roar. “We still don’t know how to really calm him down. He just sort of…got tired last time. It’ll be safer if you take cover.”

 

“He really seemed like he just wanted to smash things.”

 

“Well, yeah, that’s what he does.”

 

“I mean…he seemed like he was having fun. He laughed at me.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like him, too. He thinks small, fragile things are funny. While he was still winding down after the battle of New York, he wandered outside and found a motorcycle. First thing he did was see how far he could throw it. I’m pretty sure I saw him smile.”

 

“How long did it take him to ‘wind down’?”

 

“Mmm, about til sunset. Like I said, he just sort of got tired. Like he wanted a nap...hopefully he's feeling ready for a nap soon. You _really_ need to get back to the cabin.”

 

“But I've got to hel-”

 

“NO!” Hulk screamed as he and Steve stumbled out of the treeline.

 

“Get out of here, Peter,” Ms. Romanov ordered.

 

“But I can help.”

 

“You can just as easily get turned into a pancake, too. You really need to learn when to let the professionals do their jobs.”

 

Steve had his hands up. He was talking quietly, gently trying to keep Hulk at peace. Well, at least in a more peaceful state than he'd been a few minutes earlier. Steve was choosing his words very carefully. 

 

Ms. Romanov shoved Peter up the path before joining her teammate.

 

“Hey big guy, it’s almost nighttime,” Peter heard her calling out

 

“Huh?” the giant replied.

 

“Night. Sunset. When the sun goes down.”

 

“Sun…” The Hulk’s eyes turned out towards the lake again. “Low.”

 

“Yeah, sun’s getting real low.” 

 

“Hmmmmm.”

 

Peter didn't want to go, just in case they needed him, but Steve appeared in the path, offering only a stern look in his direction before turning back to Hulk. So Peter scurried up the path, stopping at their campfire. Out of the way, but still near. 

 

It didn't seem like he would be needed anymore, though. They had a handle on things. They had the experience to know what not to say, too. Unlike 'why'd you throw me in the lake and oh by the way, are you Bruce' Peter.

 

The teen sat down next to the pit. The wood was already piled up – they were going to have another fire tonight. That probably wasn't going to happen now. He pulled out his phone, poking around to see just how functional it was. Sound was grainy, but the images on the screen were alright. Peter wondered if Mr. Stark would let him break into the phone and fiddle around with its insides.

 

Fifteen or so minutes later, Steve wandered up, pausing only a moment when he saw that Peter was lingering. “You should have headed back,” the man said, though his tone wasn't chastising. “You look like you could use a shower – oof, and smell like it, too.”

 

“Well, I did take an involuntary swim in the lake. It's really gross in there.”

 

A comforting arm draped itself around his shoulders. “I'm glad you're ok.”

 

“Yeah...is, uh, is Bruce alright?”

 

“He...isn't hurt.”

 

“Can I talk to him?”

 

“How about we head back up to the cabin first?”

 

“I don't want him to disappear...I mean, at least, not without at least saying goodbye.”

 

“He has to come back to the cabin for his things, and Nat is going to drive him...I don't know where. He doesn't want to go back to New York right now. Once they're in town they're going to see if Tony has any spare islands lying around. But you really need a hot shower _right now_. Before you get sick.”

 

“Technically it's a myth that being cold makes you sick-”

 

“It's not a myth that being cold gives people hypothermia. Or that you're shaking like a leaf right now.”

 

“...oh, you noticed, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Come on. I'll ask him to wait before he leaves, ok? I promise.”

 

Back at the cabin, Peter's muscles and aches appreciated Steve's suggestion. The hot water was more than just comforting. It soothed him, relaxed him, and gave his body some time to heal up past the point of hurting. Getting backwards body slammed by a Hulk wasn't exactly a pleasant experience, even if it was kind of cool. 

 

He stretched out in the tub, just letting his body be cocooned in the peace. It wasn't as though Bruce could get away without him hearing, anyway. He could hear the creaks of the house just as clearly as he could hear the car if they tried to leave, or even any kind of aircraft if they tried to get creative and air-lift him out. There was no escaping his spider-enhanced hearing all the way out here. The forest was too quiet for him not to notice stuff was going on.

 

Unfortunately, it meant he also couldn't avoid eavesdropping when Bruce and Ms. Romanov finally did return to the cabin. Bruce wasn't very talkative – he just went straight to his room to get dressed in non-shredded clothes and pack.

 

If anyone asked, Peter would swear that he didn't mean to listen in on their conversations. And he wouldn't be lying. He really didn't intend to. But he also wasn't upset that he could do it so effortlessly, either.

 

Once Bruce was up in his room, Steve and Ms. Romanov discussed the shooter – who it could have been, why someone would have been that foolish. She was convinced it was the military. Some guy named General Ross desperately wanted an 'incident' to prove that Bruce wasn't safe for the public. 

 

“But this felt more personal,” Peter whispered, as though he had any say in the conversation. 

 

“What makes you think it couldn't have been Fury?” Steve responded. “He knows how much Peter means to us.”

 

“But he's not stupid. He would never risk the wrath of the Avengers just to convince Bruce that Hulk needs trained. And I'm sure he wouldn't put Peter's life in danger so recklessly.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“I'll put it this way - if it came down to saving the planet or saving Peter, he'd choose the planet. But he wouldn't throw Peter's life on the line just because he was being inconvenienced. I know its hard to trust someone who doesn't trust anyone, but he isn't a bad person.”

 

“He also isn't the entirety of SHIELD, and we already know things have happened without his knowledge before. For all we know, it's possible that someone is some kind of double agent in SHIELD for someone else-”

 

“You might want to look at your own house before you start throwing stones - how much do you actually know about what Peter's been doing after school?”

 

Peter almost choked on his own breath as he sat up, leaning over the edge of the tub.

 

“That's not important right now.”

 

“Oh, it's not? So, what, we're just going to ignore that he can run faster than you-“ 

 

“He wasn’t faster-“ 

 

“He’s practically as strong as you, too. He was playing with the  _Hulk_ , Steve! He could get hurt out there!” 

 

“I know that. That’s why he’s grounded.” 

 

“That is not going to stop him. That _hasn't_ been stopping him. In case you haven’t noticed, he follows rules about as well as Tony follows the law.”

 

“They know,” Peter whispered as he started to gather his senses back to himself. He pried his fingers off of the metal frame of the tub, cringing as the indent he left behind. He smoothed it over to make it appear as though it was a somewhat natural dent, rather than the indents caused by a shocked, super-powered teenager.

 

There was no pretending that they didn't know now, not when they were standing out there talking about how fast and how strong he was in comparison to Captain America. That wasn't just something that came up about average teenagers. Well, sure, he'd sometimes heard the gym teacher yell about some of the stronger, sporty kids needing to work harder to measure up, but that was more motivation than an actual comparison.

 

“But why hasn't he said anything?”

 

_ Because you haven't said anything,  _ the logical part of his mind told him. And he did know that Steve was trying really hard to give him privacy, and 'normalcy,' and just...a sense of his own identity. Steve Captain America Rogers, of all people, knew how important it was for him to have the space to figure out who Peter Parker was, without people bearing down on him.

 

_ But you haven't said anything because it's weird and what if they want to 'understand' it? _ the emotional side of his mind retorted. And it was right. No matter how well-meaning they might be...he really really really  _ really  _ didn't want to end up poked and prodded and needled to pieces in a hospital room. He was fine. Better than fine. His bruises from Hulk's bucking were already disappearing. 

 

If anyone could understand him, it would probably be the guy who volunteered to have his body mutated for the good of all that was, well, good. But Steve had also volunteered, knowingly. He'd signed paperwork about it and everything. And the scientists had known what they were doing. Well, not necessarily what they were doing in the full sense of the word, but they were well aware of what actions they were taking, and what their goal was with those actions.

 

He didn't have time to linger on his thoughts or fears or guilt, though. Bruce was heading downstairs. The teen scrambled from his shower, throwing clothes on and barely managing to remember to turn off the water in his rush. He couldn't just let another person vanish from his life.

 

He made it out just in time, grabbing up one of Bruce's bags that had been placed near the front door. “Let me help,” he insisted, but he had ulterior motives. As long as he was holding the bag, they couldn't leave.

 

Well, they could. But they'd be less likely to.

 

“Thank you,” the doctor mumbled. “I'm sorry for what happened. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” Or at all, Peter suspected.

 

“I-it’s fine,” Peter replied. “This isn’t how I, uh, planned…anything either.” Despite Steve’s strong grip on his shoulders, Peter buried his eyes in his hands as Dr. Banner scrambled to hold the scraps that used to be his pants up.

 

“Like two peas in a pod,” Ms. Romanov chided. Peter's cheeks flushed. If he didn't know that she knew, he probably wouldn't have been flustered, but she did know. And he knew that. And...well, he could figure all those feelings out later. Right now, he had to deal with Bruce.

 

“I mean like, meeting the Hulk. I uh, I kinda hoped to get his autograph.”

 

“Do you really expect-“

 

“Don’t,” Steve cut her off.

 

“He’s not the autograph giving type,” Bruce said. “Didn’t scare you too much, did he?”

 

“Nah,” Peter replied. “...are you...really leaving? I mean, like... _leaving_.” He'd only been guessing before, but Steve's talk of finding 'a spare island' had been nagging at his gut ever since.  


“I have to. He...he needs training. I don't want to, but I'd rather it be done on my terms rather than someone else's.”

 

“B-but-“ Peter tried. “You don’t have to go far away to do that – he wasn’t trying to hurt me. H-he-he was trying to save me, and protect me from the shooter. He wasn’t trying to-He was just mad, and throwing a tantrum. Like a big toddler.”

 

"Only when he throws a tantrum, people get hurt."

 

"But he didn't mean to do bad. He...he’s not bad."

 

"Pete." Bruce grabbed his shoulders, giving them a too-firm squeeze. His hands were trembling, just a little. "I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt because of me. I can't let that happen."

 

"But I don't think he wanted to hurt me."

 

"He might not have, but someone else was willing to shoot at you to get to me. I can’t let things get out of control like that again.” For a moment, he stood there, holding onto Peter’s shoulders. "…I need to go. For me.”

 

“But I don't want you to go.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Isn't there that video telephone thing?” Steve called out over their shoulders. Peter knew for a fact that Steve knew what Skype and Facetime were. Mr. Stark used stuff like that all the time. But Bruce chuckled. “Like something out of a science fiction picture.”

 

“Yeah, we can video-chat sometime,” Bruce agreed. "I really am sorry that _this_ is how you found out, and that now you're going to get to stew on it while I'm gone. I thought about telling you, so many times, especially when you and your friend thought I was an alien." A small smile spread on the doctor's face at the thought. "That was definitely a good one. But I...I don't like talking about it. It's easier to control when I don't."

 

"I know what that's like. I mean, the...the bad thoughts and...other stuff."

 

"Yeah. I know. But you _should_ talk about yours. You'll feel a lot better once you do. Trust me on that."

 

"But...what if it changes things?"

 

"It won't change the things that matter."

 

Then, Bruce took his own bag from Peter's hands and walked out there door. A minute later and they were gone. Ms. Romanov was driving. And Steve was making mac and cheese in the kitchen. Peter hadn't noticed that before, but now it was just the two of them left behind. Steve had also piled up some blankets on the couch, and Peter readily let himself sink down into them.

 

Even though the blankets thankfully didn’t smell like mothballs and old-ness, like most of the rest of the stuff in the cabin, Peter would still have preferred to be curled up on his own bed. His hair was finally free of the lake's murky fishy smell and his clothes were warm, but all he wanted was a good long nap. He didn’t sleep well up here in this cabin. He definitely wouldn’t sleep well knowing there was someone out who’d tried to shoot him just to upset Bruce. That was just barely one step less bad than someone shooting at him because he was Spider-man.

 

The only people that had known they were going to be up here were the other Avengers and Ned. Though, since the Avengers knew, that probably meant that Director Fury knew, because he seemed to know absolutely everything. Which just made Peter distrust SHIELD even more. If they were willing to pick on an Avenger, what wouldn’t they do to achieve their goals? Sure, they insisted they just wanted to keep the world ‘safe,’ but what kind of safe?

 

And the idea that Fury might not know everything SHIELD was doing just added even more layers to the possible truth. He really might not have any idea. Which would mean that people under him could be doing things without his permission. And apparently the military was interested in underhanded things which...well, that wasn't a total surprise, but usually they didn't do underhanded things on American soil. That was the job of other governmental departments. Like SHIELD.

 

“You really aren’t scared of Hulk?” Steve’s voice cut through his thoughts.

 

“…maybe a little. It’d probably hurt if he punched me.”

 

“Probably.”

 

“But he just seemed like he wanted to smash things and just, I dunno, vent his frustrations. When I pointed him to some rocks, he was happy to smash those instead of me. Like, I think he was actually happy. It feels good to just be upset sometimes."

 

"Especially when you have things to be upset about."

 

"Yeah....Steve?"

 

"Hm?"

 

"I...I'm sorry. That I don't...talk to you more, about things. I just...can't. I mean, I guess, I  _can_ as in literally physically I am capable of it but...I can't...It's just so exhausting to even think about talking about... _stuff_ sometimes."

 

"I know." Steve's hand came over the back of the couch, pulling a cover up around Peter's shoulders. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just do what you did today. Let me know when you need help, and I'll be right there."

 

"I love you."

 

"I love you too, Pete."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being patient with me these last few weeks - I've learned that the hardest part of losing a file isn't re-creating it, but rather getting past all of the frustrating emotions that go along with it. First, the terror and anger that get in the way of remembering and writing. Then, the feeling of inferiority, constantly erasing and re-trying to recreate what I'd had before, re-reading over things to make sure I didn't forget to write something because my brain was convinced it was already written because it HAD been written once before. Last, the perfectionist's obsession that comes with vowing to just do it better.
> 
> I hope this is a cohesive chapter with nothing important missing, and I hope it's half as good as what I'd written originally.


	30. Chapter 29

When they got home from the cabin, Peter immediately, without even unpacking, wanted to hurry to the Avenger’s tower to ‘re-do’ some of the lessons. Steve had spied him stuffing two notebooks into his backpack before they’d headed out. Given what he knew Peter was capable of making, he actually couldn’t wait to see a glimpse of an idea of what might be in those notebooks.

 

But there were a few other priorities on his mind as well.

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve figured out a way to test out how strong ‘super-strong’ is,” he asked as he brought the world’s grouchiest inventor a snack. Tony was still frustrated with how limited he was, despite how much he’d recovered. But nothing made him angrier than how stringently even Jarvis was enforcing his separation from his lab. Until the doctor gave the all-clear, he was stuck working with schematics instead of metal.

 

At this point, it was primarily an effort to prevent him from testing things out on himself. Apparently that hadn’t stopped him from using one of his new robots to strap on some kind of experimental rockets to another hunk of metal (that Steve was pretty sure wasn’t actually a functioning robot, at least not at the point that Tony slapped the rocket on it) as a test run.

 

It had flown out the window and, thankfully, all the way out into the bay. No one was injured and nothing other than the window had been damaged. But, just like the average toddler, teenager, and, in Steve’s personal experience, Stark, Tony was making his frustrations very clearly known to everyone.

 

“I’ve been trying to, but you keep breaking my equipment,” Tony grumbled back. “Though it has been good research for the Hulkbuster Armor. Speaking of - Mind telling me why Bruce wanted to borrow my island all of a sudden?”

 

“There was an incident up at the cabin.”

 

“And I missed it? Please tell me Peter got-Shit, Peter was there, is he ok?”

 

“Fine. Better than fine.” Steve glanced towards the labs, lowering his voice. It had been strange how Peter had suddenly apologized to him. Logically, it could have been because of the sudden reveal of the Hulk. But things weren’t always logical these days, especially with a super-powered teenager factored into the mix. “I think he had fun.”

 

“Look, I know I’m a fan of the big green guy, but I wouldn’t call him fun. Thrilling, sure, but not fun.”

 

“Well, you also need a suit to be half as strong as him.”

 

Irritation creased Tony’s brow. The inventor brought a weak fist around and landed it square in Steve’s shoulder. “And my suit can make me stronger than you.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Need me to prove it?”

 

“No. What I need is something that can withstand my punches, and maybe a bit more. I want to test something.” Tony didn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes flicked towards the lab.

 

“Oooh wait wait, are we talking about it now?”

 

“No…but I think we’re getting closer. And maybe some bonding time will help us.”

 

“If I were you, I’d just go up there, throw that video of him saving that car on the screen and congratulate him for a job well done.”

 

“And risk him jumping out the window to go somewhere he feels safe? No. He already ran off once, and he can’t go back to his old apartment anymore, so who knows where he’d end up if he ran off again. I…I can’t risk it. I have to make sure he stays safe  _here_. And if that means being patient with him, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

 

“Soooo…is the plan to just, what, play ‘punch the dummy until one of us breaks it’ and see if he takes the bait?”

 

“Well, I was hoping it wouldn’t break. But if you aren’t up to the challenge-“

 

“AH! Don’t even start with me. I already have the next design ready. If they’d just let me put it in-“

 

“You could have someone else do that – might be another good project for Peter.”

 

Steve tried not to laugh at the dejected look that crossed Tony’s face. He thought he was being clever, trying to use a friend’s request to grant himself permission to get back to hands-on work, but the medicine he was on was dulling his abilities somewhat. He was forgetting easy and obvious solutions to his attempts to weasel his way around his restrictions. It was frustrating him to no end, but it was also yet another reason why they weren’t letting him play with the heavy machinery just yet.

 

And while it wasn’t kind to laugh at a friend’s plight, in those moments it was easier for Steve to remember that this was Howard’s kid. The fact was never far from them, but spending so much time together over the last few years had dulled the shock quite a bit.

 

So, whether Peter liked it or not (and it seemed more of a ‘not,’ given that the teen had so many other things he actually wanted to do), he was given an official assignment to follow Tony and Jarvis’s instructions and repair and further reinforce Steve’s workout equipment. As an added bonus, Tony’s presence and Peter’s lack of familiarity with this sort of equipment was enough to distract the teen into revealing some of his secrets on camera, letting the adults begin assessing how strong their little bug actually was. Which also gave Steve room to start developing a lesson plan of his own.

 

Even if he grounded the kid, or even if he locked him up in a tower…with no windows or doors, somehow, because that was the only kind of tower that could hold Spider-Man. Even if he did those things in the name of protecting Peter, Peter would grow up someday.

 

Besides, Steve didn’t want to hold him back. He’d been held back far too many times in his life by people who thought they were doing him a favor. Sure, they probably had been. In his former state he probably would have died very quickly on the front lines. But he knew that, even then. And he still would’ve done it.

 

Peter seemed to have that same drive in him. There was no stopping that kind of passion.

 

It took a few weeks, but it did keep the teen busy. Finally, in late April, the training center was ready. But also in April was a high school orientation. Peter and Ned both got into their school of choice, now they just had a few mandatory meetings to choose their classes and have a tour of the school and those sorts of things. Typically, parents were supposed to be at their teen’s side through it, but Peter still wasn’t ready for the world to know their secret.

 

So Steve left him in the capable hands of Ned’s parents and excused himself to meet the principal. One Mr. Morita.

 

He was the grandson of an old friend, after all. While they had a lot to discuss, he was also the perfect cover for why Captain America might be spending time wandering around a high school.

 

“He saved my life more than once,” the soldier reminisced at the picture sitting on the man’s desk.

 

“He was an honorable man,” Mr. Morita. “It's an honor to be his grandson. Not that it isn’t an honor to meet _you_ …uhm…”

 

“I’m just a boy from Brooklyn who refused to take no for an answer.” Those words were true. They always had been. Steve was trying to accept his near infamy, but he would always just be a too-determined kid from Brooklyn. “I really am not that special.”

 

“There aren’t many people who would do what you do, even if they could do it. That’s pretty special.”

 

“There’s more than you think. Sometimes, they just need a little push.” Through the office’s hallway window, Steve saw Pete's tour group passing by. He pulled his hat down a bit. “Looks like you've got a pretty good group of kids at this school.”

 

“Well, that's what happens when you have to be skilled to get in. Sure, letters of recommendation are nice, and being related to someone important is interesting, but if you don't have the skills, you won't get into this school. It looks like Peter's a really smart kid. If I had to guess, I'd say he's probably really bored in school right now?”

 

“That's a good guess. Bruce and Tony have both given him extra lessons and it still seems like he isn't satisfied.”

 

“And by Bruce and Tony, you mean Bruce Banner and Tony Stark, right?” The principal waved Peter's letter of recommendation, handwritten and signed by one Dr. Bruce Banner. And while Peter hadn't asked Tony for one, he really needed no further explanation. “Hopefully we don't bore him, too. We're advanced, but not _that_ advanced.”

 

“There's a lot of things they haven't let him do because of his age. Heavy machinery and chemicals can both be equally dangerous, and just because you're smart enough to use them, that doesn't mean you necessarily should.”

 

“A teenager is always a teenager,” Mr. Morita agreed. “I've seen plenty of teenage geniuses to know that much. They can't help it. Their bodies are growing and their brains are going haywire to deal with all the hormones. Teens will always end up making at least some stupid decisions.”

 

“But that's what we're here for.”

 

“Mmhm. And your teen is interesting. I can't think of a single other kid I've ever met that wouldn't be screaming 'I'm related to Captain America' from the rooftops at his age.”

 

“Well, he did have a very traumatizing experience last year. He doesn't want people to obsess over that, and, well, if people found out about us, he'd be famous, which would draw attention to it. We need to make sure that no one leaks the information to the press.”

 

“I agree, but that's also not an easy task in a school of this size. And you really don't think you'll ever want to come to a – whatever? What if he wants to join the band, or be in a play?”

 

“I could say I'm visiting the grandson of an old friend. And I'm hoping he'll feel better about everything by the time he graduates so I don't have to come up with an excuse for that. I'm not going to miss his graduation.”

 

“Well, that's a few years away yet. There's a lot that can happen in high school. We'll do our best to accommodate your special circumstances, but I'm going to warn you now, I wouldn't care if he was the crown prince of England, I'm going to hold him to the same standard as every other kid in this school.”

 

“I wouldn't expect any less.”

 

When the tour ended, the young lady that had been leading it – Liz, Mr. Morita called her – came by to drop off some things. She also froze as soon as she looked at Steve's face.

 

“Your principal is the grandson of an old friend of mine,” he told her.

 

“Oh wow,” she mustered. “I...wow.”

 

“Would you like an autograph?”

 

“Yes...Uhm. I don't...have anything for you to autograph though.”

 

“I can find something for you. Would that be alright, Mr. Morita?”

 

“Sure,” he replied. “She's one of our best students. I don't mind.”

 

“Oh my go-oodness, thank you,” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much. That's so amazing. Wow. Thank you.”

 

“I'm going to get going now,” he let her know as he slipped out of the office. He wanted to just take Peter home right away, but if that was the reaction from one student, he knew wandering into the cafeteria right now would be catastrophic for Peter.

 

Nat had told him that dressing like an average person was the greatest disguise, and normally she was right. In passing, people barely spared him a glance. In restaurants, he could turn up his collar, let Peter do the ordering, and no one would give pause. But here there were kids - students. Some of whom probably had his face hanging in their history classrooms, or in their history books. Kids at this school were more likely to be part of academic teams for their after school activities, which also included sometimes excruciating details about Steve's life during the war. All of his Commandos' names were in the books. And yet, Mr. Morita lived a normal life. There probably weren't a lot of kids who were impressed by his status as a grandson of someone they would never meet, even if it was an interesting fact to break the ice.

 

He decided to wait by the car, and saw another driver waiting there, too. Their car was much fancier. It was almost the sort of thing he would expected Tony to have. He knew there'd be wealthier kids at this school – the wealthy always could afford to take the extra measures to make sure their kids excelled, after all – but he hadn't been prepared for it to be so obvious. What could a kid raised in that environment be like?

 

Hopefully not like Tony.

 

A few families trickled out from the little welcome meeting. Ned and Peter wandered out in a bit of a hurry, darting straight for the car when they saw Steve waiting. “I just want to get home,” Peter was telling Ned.

 

“No! Come on, we need to do something-”

 

“He isn't worth it.”

 

“Did something go wrong on the tour?”

 

“No-” Peter started.

 

“Yeah,” Ned interrupted. “There's a kid who calls himself 'Flash,' I wonder if that's even his real name – but he's awful, bragging about rich parents and how they're going on vacation in Hawaii and I told him I'm from Hawaii but then he just made fun of me, which I'm used to, but then he started making fun of Peter because he didn't have anyone with him even though Flash didn't have anyone there either, so-”

 

“So Ned told him I'd met you. Basically.”

 

“There's a lot more to the story.”

 

“But it doesn't matter. Ned, I don't care. Flash is just annoying. He's just a brainy Tyler. Which I prefer – he can't pelt us with dodgeballs, and we're probably smarter than him.”

 

“Well, yeah, but he _thinks_ he's the best thing ever.”

 

“So? Let him. We've got something better.”

 

 _A teenager is always a teenager..._ But some teenagers were definitely more grown up than others. Peter had to be, given what he'd been through, and what he wanted (and didn't want) in his life right now, but Steve felt a swell of pride anyway. “I guess we need to get out of here before he sees us then?”

 

“Please?”

 

“Oh, come on! Just get an autograph, just one!”

 

“I don't want to have to spend any more time dealing with Flash today.” There was a deeply discomforted calm to his voice that finally helped his friend let it go. Peter was deflating before their very eyes, and as much as Steve understood the desire to tell a bully to, well, buzz off, he also didn't blame Peter for wanting to pick his battles more wisely. “He isn't worth it.”

 

“Ok, ok. See you tomorrow then?”

 

“Yeah. 'Night.”

 

As Ned hurried back inside, Peter dove into the car. Steve cringed, just a little, as the door slammed. Peter had been looking forward to this day ever since he started applying to high schools. And now it was here, only to be brought down by a bully. Even if Peter was trying to shake it off, he was still a teenager. And, from what Ned had said, he had just faced off against a bully that picked at just the absolute worst injury.

 

Steve paused to squeeze Peter's shoulder before turning the car on. “I'm fine,” Peter said.

 

“I know you want to be. But it's ok if he upset you.”

 

“...he's probably just mad or something. Like, Ned's parents were there for me, and I know you were just up the hall. But he looked like he was alone.”

 

“He just wanted to feel bigger than someone, and he thought you might be a good option.”

 

“Right!”

 

“You did the right thing by walking away from that. I know, I'm not one to talk. I used to challenge bullies to fight me behind the school.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. My best friend always had to bail me out, though. It didn't matter where I was, he always seemed to find me.”

 

“It's so weird thinking about you needing anyone to protect you.”

 

“Well, everyone needs someone to look after them sometimes, no matter how strong they are. Especially those of us who like to spend our time looking out for others."

 

"...so uh...uhm...about... _that_. Uhm." Steve made sure to be quiet and let Peter work through his thoughts. Ever since the cabin, Peter had tried more than once to talk about things, but he could never quite bring himself to say what was really on his mind. It was obvious, given how poor Peter's lying skills were, that there was always something else he wanted to say, but he just never quite got there. But if there was one thing Steve had learned, it was patience. 

 

Unfortunately, today was not going to be their day, either. 

 

A call rang through, and Jarvis - who Tony had made absolute certain was wired into the car, too, because Tony couldn't _not -_ announced that the call was from Nat. He found a place to pull over so he could step out of the car to take the call, and he quickly learned that an urgent mission had come up, and they desperately needed his skills. Mercenaries had taken a SHIELD ship hostage and were making some steep demands, and Fury wanted the best of the best to get things done as quickly and effortlessly as possible.

 

"It might take a few days," she told him. "I know Fury's going to want to check in afterwards, and you know how he can be. This one's really important. Sorry."

 

"It's fine. It's what we do." He turned back to look in through the window, and he could see Peter learning forward, head tilted in his direction like he was listening in. When he got back in the car, Peter spoke before he had a chance.

 

"Mission?"

 

"Yeah. Urgent. Look, if you need anything while I'm gone, you know you can go to the tower. There's plenty of spare bedrooms there, and Tony won't bite. He could probably use the company. And Bruce might be there this weekend. He's supposed to pick up some of his stuff so he can keep working on, well, whatever big scientific discovery he's working on this time."

 

"I'll be ok. I can take care of myself."

 

"I know you can. I just wish you didn't have to."

 

"But that's what we do - look out for the people who need us."

 

"Exactly."

 

"It's fine. We'll have plenty of time to spend together when I'm an Avenger, too, right?"

 

"Haha, yeah."

 

At least that was a small win. Peter's Avenger aspirations were no secret, but he hadn't talked about them in months. If he was starting to talk about those goals again, then perhaps a good heart-to-heart about his powers might be right around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was writing this, I paused to consider Steve getting to work each day and I've driven the stretch of roads between New York and DC a couple times myself, and...it's not pleasant. Not the worst thing ever, but not great either. And Steve is totally a 1940s driver in a young man's body.


	31. Chapter 30

“You totally have a crush on her,” Ned teased as they settled down for lunch the next day. Again. He hadn’t stopped since Peter had turned red at a mere glance from Liz Allen. He’d never felt like that before. Well, he’d felt…certain things. That had fairly quickly been dashed by Aunt May attempting to have a talk with him, so after that whenever he started feeling things his mind drifted back to Aunt May’s talk and immediately any interest was gone. But this…this was different.

 

“Do not,” he insisted. “She was just…really nice.” She’d actually talked to him. And not just in the mandatory “the bathroom is over here and here’s some fun facts about the school” sort of way. They had had a whole conversation. Well, they’d said more than three sentences each about a topic unrelated to the tour. And she’d seemed interested. “Besides, she’s what, a Sophomore? She’s way out of my league.”

 

“Your related to the most awesome person on the planet, but  _she’s_  out of  _your_  league.”

 

“Being related to him doesn’t make me as awesome as he is.” Becoming an Avenger might, though. And as far as looks went, Peter did have an advantage there, thanks to his spider-ified muscles. No one noticed because he hadn’t changed his wardrobe and he always found a corner to hide in to change for gym class, but he could be a popular kid, if he wanted to be.

 

But that would probably mean he’d need to join sports or something, and he didn’t want to do that. It was hard enough pulling back on his strength in his day-to-day actions. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to contain himself while also trying to remember all the rules of whatever sport he was trying to join. He was already so easily distracted as it was.

 

Plus, he wasn’t about to give up D&D or Star Wars or any of the things he actually enjoyed. Though he wouldn’t mind being popular among girls who also liked those things.

 

And Liz had joked about her magical science themed D&D campaign with him.

 

Which the mere memory of that thought made his heart pound again.

 

 _Liz_  was cool. She was practically perfect in every way. And she played D&D… _Is this a crush?_ He wondered as he noticed that his attempts at doodling up a new design had gotten a bit off topic. Completely off topic. He’d started designing a science-wizard of his own.

 

“You know how you could get some serious cool points?”

 

“I’m not having a party.”

 

“But you have the  _best_  penthouse in the city, and no adults!”

 

“And a constant babysitter that’s always watching.”

 

“I’m sure we could bribe him.”

 

“Pepper’s in town. Even if we could convince Jarvis and Mr. Stark, Pepper would never let it slide. Besides…then everyone would know. And I don’t want to have to wade through paparazzi just to go to school.”

 

“…you’re kind of boring, you know that?” Ned nudged him playfully, but Peter didn’t disagree. Outside of trying to be a hero, he was rather boring these days. But oh if Ned knew that truth.

 

Peter vowed he would tell Ned, just as soon as he got up the courage to actually talk about it with Steve. Steve had to come first. He deserved it. “I wonder if Liz goes to the same place we do to play.”

 

“A girl that classy? Probably not. We are the pub thugs to her...I dunno, castle? I'm not good at analogies.”

 

“I thought you said she wasn't out of my league.”

 

“If you own up to who you really are, but if we're hiding it then you're just a pub thug. Well, I guess you could be an Aragorn. He was skulking in pubs for who knows how long before he stepped up to be king.”

 

“Why can't I be Gandolf? All the bad guys underestimated him, and then he came back from the dead to save the day.”

 

“Oooooh yeah, that's good...does that mean I have to be Gimli?”

 

“You are totally a Legolas.”

 

“You're right. Say, d'ya think you could talk Hawkeye into giving me archery lessons over the summer?”

 

“Tell you what, next time he's in town, you can come over and ask him yourself.”

 

Despite Peter's protests, he did appreciate Ned reminding him that there was normal life outside of his new-normal weirdness. It meant that, for a few minutes at least, he could be properly distracted from his worries.

 

And Steve was worrying him.

 

Throughout the day, Peter stole away to check his phone. He was doing better than when Mr. Stark had been, well, off giving everyone a heart attack. Now, instead of checking his phone in class, he was just taking extra bathroom breaks, or hiding away for a moment between classes. Sure, that made him late, but some things were more important.

 

Steve never got called away abruptly like that. Which meant this was really important, but also probably really dangerous.

 

When he'd checked in that morning, he'd told Peter that the mission had gone well and he'd be home tomorrow. That was good-sounding, but Peter still didn't like it. Usually, Steve would have a mission, visit Peggy, and come home in time for dinner.

 

But not this time. This time, he was staying away longer. And the last time someone was away too long without checking in, well, he got dragged into the penthouse at 4 in the morning, half dead and insisting he was fine. But that was just how Tony Stark was. Steve Rogers was nothing like Tony Stark.

 

Peter tried not to let his mind wander. They probably just wanted Steve there in person. Steve probably hadn't gotten hurt. He never got hurt. Hopefully Peggy was still ok, too. Peter didn't want to go to a funeral over Easter break. But he was sure Steve would tell him if it had to do with Peggy.

 

He hoped it wasn't as stupid as Steve crashing his motorcycle. He drove one when he was in DC, and when Peter's mind got to wandering, sometimes it acted like a scandalized grandma as it sought out every little stupid possible problem.

 

“He's not hurt,” Peter whispered to himself as he tucked his phone away and darted to gym class.

 

“Parker! How good of you to join us!” the gym teacher barked as he tried to sneak in.

 

“Sorry, I'm, uh, not feeling well today.” He tucked his face into his elbow and faked a cough. “Asthma flare up. Y'know, all the pollen in the air.”

 

He hadn't used that excuse in months, considering he didn't have asthma anymore.

 

“We're playing dodgeball today. Give it a try, and let me know if you need to tap out.”

 

“Ughhh Puny Parker is at it _again_ ,” he heard someone whisper. It really didn't bother him. If anything, it was helpful – who would suspect Puny Parker was actually secretly super athletic? But it did bother Ned, so Peter hurried anyway.

 

The problem with dodgeball was that certain people liked to target other people. In a healthy environment, it might have been like a water balloon fight at a birthday party, with friends trying to get each other in good fun. But this was middle school, and there were people who wanted to be better than other people, and they chased that goal in cruel ways.

 

Peter had had more than his fair share of bruises and burns from being pegged with dodgeballs. If he was less worried, he may have let them get him out again today. But then that would leave Ned alone out there, and Ned healed like a normal person.

 

“I've been thinking about Liz's D&D campaign,” Ned tried to tell him casually as they hid at the back of the herd. “And I really want to do a space campaign, but I don't think D&D does space. But D&D isn't the only game out there, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“So what if we start something totally new. _Everyone_ plays D&D, but if we tried something else, we might get some new players. Which would be great, since, like, we're down most of our players anyway. And _maybe_ we might even be able to talk Liz in to joining us. Wouldn't that be cool? Just promise you won't get all weird and gross when you start dating he-”

 

“Duck!” Peter gave Ned the most gentle shove he could, grabbing a ball right out of the air.

 

“Dude.”  
  


“That almost hit you in the face.”

 

“ _Dude._ ”

 

“Parker got Johnson out!” someone yelled out.

 

“No way!” Tyler Johnson, the kid everyone expected to go on to be a professional football player, yelled back. “There's _no_ way.”

 

“So way!” Ned yelled back. “He caught your ball fair and square! You're out!”

 

“Oh,” Peter whispered, letting the ball drop. “Yeah, weird. Guess we all get one lucky catch.” The game had completely stopped so that the remaining players could stare.

 

“You're out Johnson!” the teacher called back. “Get off the field.”

 

“You keep doing these things then acting like it's luck,” Ned pointed out. “Maybe you're just not as bad at sports as you think you are.”

 

“Maybe,” Peter agreed. “Still can't play many sports if you can't run. And I can't think of any sport where you literally just stand there and catch things.” Though he made certain to let himself get out at the next opportunity.

 

“You cheated,” Tyler hissed, throwing a gum wrapper, complete with some very wet chewed up gum, at Peter. He ducked his head and let it settle into the bleachers.

 

“I got lucky.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

Ned got out a moment later, and returned to plotting to get Peter a girlfriend. Since if Peter had a super cool girlfriend, Ned might get a super cool girlfriend.

 

And Peter wasn't opposed to playing some science-fantasy space game with Liz.

 

But when class was over, he immediately excused himself - “Therapy!” was his excuse – and darted off to call Steve.

 

“Hey Pete,” came the too-cool voice through his phone.

 

“H-hey.”

 

“How was school today?”

 

“It was...school.”

 

“I know, it's not interesting, but was it good for what it is at least?”

 

“Yeah...is, uhm, everything ok?”

 

“Of course. I just had too much to do after the mission. I wanted to see Peggy, I promised my running buddy I'd drop in to visit his VA support group. I didn't want to drive home tired. You really miss me that much?”

 

“You have a running buddy?”

 

“Well, when I get to do a morning run around the National Mall, I always seem to pass the same guy over and over again.”

 

“'Cause you're so fast.”

 

“And we just seem to like the same route. And last time, I actually stopped to introduce myself.”

 

“It's only fair. If you're going to passing someone a dozen times.”

 

“Right. Turns out he runs a support group, helping soldiers adjust to life back home. I promised him I'd drop in sometime. So...I dropped in this time.”

 

“Hopefully he's a better therapist than mine is.”

 

“Support groups aren't the same as therapy. It's just people with shared experiences helping each other. Like your friendship with Melissa.”

 

“...yeah, it would be nice if we could just hang out and talk about things. Therapy is the worst.”

 

“I'm sorry I haven't found any alternative therapists yet-”

 

“Can't I just stop going? I always feel worse after.”

 

“...tell you what. Go tonight, talk about that, maybe she just needs to know that her current process isn't working. And if she doesn't try something new, you can stop seeing her. But I think you should keep an open mind to trying to see someone else. Sound like a good deal?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“We're going to figure this stuff out together.”

 

“Ok.”

 

“Alright. Now, if I'm going to be home in time for lunch tomorrow, I really should head back to my, what do we call it, it's not a hotel room-”

 

“DC home?”

 

“Yeah, we could call it that. But it's not really home.”

 

“You could just drive home now.”

 

“I'd like to have one more meeting with Fury tomorrow morning. Then I'll be home. Promise. See you then.” Peter decided not to push the 'like to have' statement. Maybe he was going to talk about Oscorp, and May. Peter could only hope.

 

“See ya.”

 

Peter had gone to the therapy building already while he was talking. But he could just jump up to the roof and head off into the city to do something that actually helped him feel better: Spider-maning.

 

Or, he could go in, and this could be the last time he had to go in. “Just be brave, Parker. What's the worst she could do? Kick you out? You want that. Ugh, but what if she lectures you. But she can't keep you for more than an hour, and you've had worse hour-long lectures. And then you'd never need to see her again.”

 

So, once he'd given himself his pep talk, he went up for what he hoped was truly is last visit to Dr. Keller.

 

“Hello Peter,” she greeted cheerfully when he got up to her office. The waiting room had been pretty empty, but Peter wasn't surprised. Easter was that Sunday, and a lot of people in this part of town were religious. Even Melissa was busy, though that was because she'd picked up extra shifts at work to cover for the people who were observing the holiday.

 

“Hi.” _You can do it Parker. Be brave. Just let her know this isn't working for you. She's not some scary burglar who can break your arms. She's a therapist. She's probably had a ton of patients that didn't work out._

 

“Any big plans this weekend?”

 

“Uhm, me and Ned were probably going to plan our next D&D campaign. Or, maybe something else.”

 

“What, no special trips planned? The weather's supposed to be nice.”

 

“Uhm, no. We tried that. Didn't like it that much.”

 

“There's other places you could go besides camping. But there's always summer vacation, right?”

 

“Sure. So. Uhm.”

 

“Hm?”

 

She was glancing at her watch. Peter noticed that the lighting on the display seemed to be changing. “Do you have a smartwatch? I heard Stark industries had released one, but I...well I guess if I asked I could've gotten one for Christmas, but I didn't really want one. They seem kind of fragile.” At least, the mass market ones seemed fragile. If Peter had been gifted one, he was sure it would've been made specially for him. Complete with a tracker, and no excuse as to why it got conveniently forgotten on the regular.

 

“Oh, no. Well, it does have a few tricks to it, but nothing as fancy as the Starkwatch.”

 

 _Focus, Peter,_ he reminded himself. “Cool. So...uhm...I...actually...wanted to...I mean, d-don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think therapy has been helping me? And I think maybe it's just this kind of stuff isn't for me. All that journal-keeping and stuff, I just don't do it. And even if you ask me to, I won't. It's not something I do. I always get distracted doing other things that I like a lot more. And I don't actually, uhm, what I mean to say is, I just...don't...”

 

“You don't trust me.”

 

“No! I mean yes. I mean...it's not that I don't _trust_ you. You seem professional.” She glanced at the watch again as it flickered. “Usually,” he muttered.

 

“I understand. I'm not Ben, or May, or Steve. I'm a stranger that you've been required to come see once a week. Some people find it comforting to have someone to talk to that they know they aren't likely to encounter out in the real world, others don't. I can't replace your family, and I don't intend to. But, Peter, I am rooting for you. Honest. You're a good kid and you mean well. And I think you'll do well, too. I actually wanted to talk about your future today. You're going to high school next year, and they're going to be asking a lot of 'where do you want to go to college, or what do you want to do for a living' type questions so that they can guide you to take the right classes. You might even be too busy for once a week therapy. Maybe a different kind of therapy will suit your schedule better.”

 

“Right! Totally. You're not mad?”

 

“Of course not, Peter. You're supposed to grow past me. Though, since you have expressed that you don't think you've been helped by therapy, I was thinking perhaps we could take some time to talk about how far you've come. When you first came in here, you barely kept your head up. Now look at you, sitting up straight, your head high.”

 

Peter did notice his posture. But he also noticed the hairs on his arms starting to stick up, which was probably contributing to that. Why were his senses going off? It wasn't Dr. Keller. She didn't mean him any harm. He could tell that much just by looking at her. “Yeah?” he managed.

 

“You've definitely grown more confident. And even though the pain of your loss will always be with you, you've also found new paths to follow and go forward with your life.”

 

Peter felt like he might puke. “I, uhm, I'm gonna...bathroom. I don't feel so good. I'll be back.” He bolted before she could say anything to stop him, running for the bathroom and locking himself in. There weren't any windows in the office's bathroom, but there was an air vent. He could squeeze through it if he needed to.

 

Maybe.

 

“No, I'm too big,” he whispered, after jumping up on the wall and actually testing the width of his shoulders. He could've fit last year. But he was bigger now.

 

And definitely feeling worse.

 

He pressed his ear to the door as two pairs of stompy-boots entered the office. “Good evening, Doctor,” one of them greeted.

 

“He's in the bathroom right now,” she told them. “Is it true?”

 

“Yeah...Fury's in surgery now...they don't think he'll make it.”

 

Peter recognized that voice.

 

“Babysitter?” he whispered.

 

“We need to get Peter to safety,” the second pair of boots declared. “At least until Captain Rogers is able to return home.”

 

“Peter said he wasn't feeling well,” Dr. Keller told them.

 

“Hmm,” Boots the Second grumbled.

 

Babysitter moved towards the door, and Peter pulled his webshooters out of his bag, latching them onto his wrists. The feeling of danger was stronger than it had been since, well, since the day those two agents had shot at him.

 

“Hey, Pete? It's Agent Burke. You might remember me from a few months ago. I was tasked with keeping an eye on you while you recovered from the Oscorp incident. Captain Rogers is going to be away a little longer. I'm here to escort you home tonight.”

 

Peter realized he had two choices: Fight, or go quietly. If he fought, he might get shot. If he went quietly, he might also get shot. Just a little bit later.

 

And Dr. Keller didn't seem to mean him any harm. If he fought now, _she_ might get shot.

 

“Go quietly it is,” he whispered, his voice barely audible even to his own enhanced ears, as he stuffed his spider-suit into his gym bag (and his dirty gym clothes into the trashcan). If he was caught, he would pretend his costume was just his dirty clothes. Hopefully that would save them from inspection. Then, he flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and tugged his hoodie sleeves down over his webshooters. Once they were outside, he could just run away. Easy as pi.

 

When he opened the door, another wave of nausea hit him as soon as he looked into the eyes of Babysitter's companion. Boots the Second wasn't just any stompy-booted agent. He was Agent Gun-guy. He was also supposed to be on a super secret mission, deep under cover and totally unreachable.

 

No wonder his body was trying to puke. It wanted to expel that feeling as badly as he wanted to take the man's gun away.

 

“Sorry for surprising you like this,” Babysitter said. He'd already said more words than Peter ever remembered him saying before. He had an accent, too. Irish, maybe? “But for your safety, please come with us.”

 

“What's happening?” Peter asked, trying to play completely dumb. Now that his panic was turning into planning, the words he'd heard earlier finally sunk in. _Fury_ was in surgery. That was the name of the director of SHIELD.

 

“Captain Rogers will tell you what you are cleared to know when he returns home. For now, you need to trust me.”

 

“Uhm. I think...I'd rather just go to the tower. Mr. Stark won't let anything happen to me, and Pepper is flying in tonight. I'll be safe there.”

 

“Peter-”

 

“Have you seen Mr. Stark's security? It's super cool. I helped him check it. Really high tech stuff.”

 

“We will be escorting you to SHIELD headquarters,” Boots insisted. “There isn't a higher security building on the planet.” Boots really didn't seem to have Peter's safety in mind. With each word, Peter felt vibrations run up his spine.

 

“You'll be safe,” Babysitter insisted. His words were much more sincere, but Peter didn't trust it. “We can let Mr. Stark know where you are, if it will help.”

 

“I'm really ok,” Peter tried to say again.

 

“Peter,” Dr. Keller said, her voice bashing him over the head. His senses still weren't afraid of her, but her tone was similar to Boots'. “Please. I know this isn't easy for you, but they're only concerned about your safety. You're very important to them.”

 

Peter took a deep breath. He needed to get out of the building first, anyway. “Ok.”

 

Babysitter put a firm hand on his shoulder, leading him to the building's elevator. Boots lingered behind, and Peter strained to hear what the doctor was saying to him. “Remember, he's invaluable to us,” she said.

 

“Of course,” Boots replied. Then, his voice dropped even quieter, just as the elevator reached their level. “-dra” was all that Peter could pick out over the noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pulled up the NYC Department of Education's school break schedule for the 2013-2014 year to see when school let out for them and...realized I got some things wrong, because I was assuming it was similar to my own high school break schedule since I'm from a similar region, climate-wise. But no, their school year is stretched out a lot more than mine was, with longer and more frequent breaks throughout the year. Including a long break around Easter, and the end of the year being at the end of June. My original plan was to have Winter Soldier happen at the start of Peter's summer vacation (since he can't miss any more school or he'll be held back), but that seems like a bit too late in the year, considering all they have to get done before Ultron, so I bumped it up to April. Happy Easter to the Eastern Seaboard I suppose. 
> 
> In this version of the MCU, SHIELD also just has a spare apartment in DC that various people (like Clint, Nat, and Steve) can use when they need to. It would just be less personalized than it was in the movie, since his main home is in NYC. And I also thought about Sam – in this story, Steve just met Sam on some other morning half-marathon run. Plus, the movie itself doesn't technically say Steve went on this particular mission immediately after meeting Sam. It just implies that's the timeline. Maybe they've even done their morning runs together a couple of times at this point, depending on how many times Steve needed to sleep before returning home to New York, and he always has to go on a morning run.


End file.
